


Giggles & Company

by puddin_taine



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Pack Street Fanverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-13 22:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 66
Words: 245,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13580535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddin_taine/pseuds/puddin_taine
Summary: The experiences of one young man who, thrust into an unfamiliar and unenjoyable world, tries to pursue his life's dream while beset on all sides by assholes, side-jobs, mobsters, police, and the high price of fish.





	1. Grand Theft Van

The cold salt breeze blows over me. The sea spray falls on me, every drop a diamond on my red pelt. In the distance a gull calls for its flock. The waves, gentle today, rock my little boat. I crane my neck, peering over the cabin roof at a lone lighthouse that stands on a faraway rock. I don't know what waits for me on the shore, but I- BANG. What the hell was that?! I can't have run aground this far from shore, there are no rocks out here, and I'm still mo- BANG.

"FUCK!" I shriek, falling out of my hammock. I feel around me, grasping at anything within reach. Glasses... I need my glasses. Everything's shaking. Cheese and rice, I didn't think this city had earthquakes. Oh shit, oh shit, all I see is flickering orange, something's on fire. I need to get out of here. I have my glasses. I need to... there's no fire in here. Oh thank goodness. It's outside. I look out a window. Cars are driving by as if nothing's happening, why is... why is everything leaning? Oh shit... OH SHIT.

I open a rear door and nearly fall out of the old, blue-grey van I've called home for almost a year. In my boxers, no less. At least I don't have neighbors to worry offend, just, you know... an entire city. "STOP! STOP! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!" A donkey in coveralls and a lemming in a cheap suit stare back at me, startled. The donkey has his hooves on the controls of a tow truck, and the tow truck has its hooks on my GODDAMN VAN. "Wha-WHAT THE HELL! I PAID FOR A PASS!"

The lemming clears his throat and waves a clipboard at me. "Sir, I must inform you of an outstanding parking fine that has been turned over to-"

"No. NO, I spoke with parking enforcement, we set up a payment plan! I've been making my payments, who the hell-"

"IF I MAY, the fine is now over one hundred and eighty days old, and the city has transferred the debt to ZooPark Incorporated," he squeaks. "Your vehicle will be impounded until your fine is paid along with interest and storage fees. For every week in impound, an additional five dollars will be added to your-"

"What the HELL are you talking about?! Transferred, my ass! I've been making my payments! And you expect me to pay you _more_ to hold onto my van after you've fucking _stolen it?!"_

"Sir, there is no need for that sort of language. I will need your name and signature on this form stating that we have taken possession of the vehicle and that you agree to pay the amount of your fine and any accrued fees."

"Yeah, what if I don't sign it? What if I call the cops on your hustle, here?"

"The police are already here, sir, to supervise."

I turn around to see two uniformed officers staring back at me, a sheep and a wolf, with a look about them that tells me they're just waiting for me to make a move. Not likely. I know I'm no fighter.

The lemming clears his throat again. "If you do not pay your fine within sixty days, a lien will be placed on the vehicle. After one hundred and fifty days, ZooPark will auction the vehicle and the proceeds will be applied to your debt. Please sign the form, sir."

I'm... I'm getting dizzy. This can't be happening. And if it is happening, it's got to be a joke. Somebody's set me up. "Harry? Harry, you can come out now, it's... it's not funny anymore. I..."

"This isn't a prank, sir. Please sign."

"No... no, this is theft, it's goddamn _theft!_ How do you get away with this?! How much money did you pay your puppets on city council, huh? How many of them are in your pocket, man? You're _stealing_ my van, my fucking _home_ , and you expect me, you actually expect me to play along with it? If I could pay you the fine right now I would, but I don't have a lot of money, THAT'S WHY I LIVE IN THE VAN!" I must have taken one step too close, because now I've got hooves and paws all over me. "WHAT THE- COME ON, THIS IS BULLSHIT AND YOU KNOW IT!"

"Look, pal, we're just doin' our job. Now do you wanna sign it, or do you wanna spend your night in a holding cell?" This fucking wolf. Damn traitor, throwing his lot in with the ZPD, as if it's not hard enough out here. What, you think I believe the ZPD has a history of unfair treatment towards predators? You think I actually believe there's an ingrained culture of discrimination among Zootopia's finest? You'd be right, I absolutely believe that. They also hate semi-unemployed comedians who live in vans, but that's beside the point.

After they _forced_ me to sign, they were at least kind enough to let me grab what I could carry. I crammed my gym bag full of the essentials. Clothes, obviously. Might as well throw some of those on before they tack on indecent exposure or something. Toothbrush, toothpaste, towel, soap. Shitty spare pair of glasses, shitty phone, shitty laptop with a bad battery. Matches, bag of tobacco, pi... ugh, pipe. I feel like such an asshole just for owning it. Anyone with a brain would have quit smoking if they couldn't afford cigarettes. But I don't have a brain, that's part of why I went to art school.

I don't cry as I watch them drag my home away, down the street to who-knows-where. Really, I don't. I'm still too angry. While I walk to see Harry at his night job, that's when I cry. A lot. Holy cheese and rice do I cry, and not like a kit, like a grown goddamn polecat. I don't even care about the assholes staring at me. Get a good look, you fuckers, you don't get to see a man cry often. Behold it.

I manage to pull myself together by the time I get to Electric Embryo. The bell rings as I open the door, startling Harry off his stool. The tubby raccoon I call friend scrambles to his feet, trying to look busy. "Chill, dude, it's me."

"Holy shit, Reese, you scared the crap outta me. What're you doing here this early? The new BEEST album doesn't ship til next week." He squints, taking a second look at me. "Damn, dude. You look like shit. You okay?"

"No. No, I'm not okay, and I don't think I'll be okay for a very long time."

He steps down from the register and puts a paw on my shoulder. "It's cool, man. What happened?"

"My van's been to- fucking _stolen_ , that's what."

"That creepy fucking thing?! Who the hell would want tha-" he catches himself. Clearly, _I_ want it, or I wouldn't be so broken up.

"The city sold my parking fines to some crooked fucking business, and they towed it, almost with me still in it."

"Didn't you get on some payment plan?"

I throw my paws up in the air. "Yeah. I did. Doesn't matter to them, and apparently it doesn't matter to fucking city hall. Now I'm gonna have to pay interest and storage on top of it, not even considering how much else they've probably tacked on already." I drop down, sitting on the beaten rug between two racks of records. "I can't get a night job. I can't fucking stand being around mammals that long, I get... fuck, you know what happens."

"Yeah, I remember that. Even I stay away from that Bug Burga, they know my face now." Harry sits down beside me, thinking. "Well. At least you've got this morning's show."

For a moment, I just nod, trying to focus on the positi- wait. "What? What show?"

"Dude, the open mic this morning. Latrice had it but she left, she's opening for Debra DiGiovaca on her new tour. I told you about it last week."

I think back, desperately trying to recall something. "I don't re- wait, _DiGiovaca?_ Seriously? Holy shit. Wait, you never told me anything about that!" When he's not sitting on his ass in the record store, Harry's also a comedian. We met at an open-mic, and laughed drunkenly at each other's jokes for what felt like hours. Now, when he's not working or performing, though, Harry's a huge niphead. It's what gave him his statuesque figure and it's what I'm choosing to blame for his forgetfulness at this moment.

"Shit. I thought I did. Well, I talked Gary into it, and he agreed to give you a shot at hosting the open mic today. With Latrice gone we need another regular, and I told him you really needed the money. I, uh... I told him you were living like a hobo in a dirty old fish van."

I'm not sure whether to kiss this fat fuck for getting me a real gig or kick him in the jeans for insulting my castle. Wound's still really fresh, I'm kinda touchy. "Wow. I am so glad I came here. You've saved my life, you goddamn idiot, you know that?" Five minutes ago I was bawling my eyes out, and now I'm smiling. "I should really kick your ass for not telling me sooner, but I have more important shit to worry about."

We shoot the shit until morning, when he closes up shop and we make our way to Giggles & Co, probably the best club in our part of town. That's not saying much, really, but away from Pack Street, you won't find many clubs that lean more towards a predator sense of humor, not to mention sleep schedule. Gary lets us in, and he gives me a look. I know what that look is, it's a 'better not make me regret this' look. Gary's a dick. He knows what he's doing, though, and that's what matters. All I've got to do is a few minutes and some introductions. Here come my nerves... by the power of cheap red wine, I will get through this.

"Thank you for coming to Giggles, we know you have better things you could be doing, but we appreciate you wasting your time with us. Let me start off by saying you're a lovely crowd and I adore each and every one of you, now does anyone have a couch I can sleep on?" Pause. A few laughs, not bad. "No? No? You, in the back? Okay, good. I want you to know I had a set planned for this morning, but instead of that, I'm just gonna tell you all about my night, how's that sound? Anyone have a rough night? Yeah? Well I promise, this is gonna make you feel so much better."

"So I moved to this city about a year ago, and holy shit I hate it here." A few playful boos. I think they're playful, anyway. Nobody's thrown anything, at least. "Don't get me wrong, I hated it where I used to live, too, just for different reasons. It sucked there. At least here there are things to do." A chuckle. "For the past year I've been living in a van. That's not a joke. THAT'S NOT THE JOKE, STOP LAUGHING!" Maybe I had one glass too many already, but I think they liked that. "Really, I've been living in a van. Any of you have apartments? Yeah? Good, keep it- keep that up."

Pause for a sip. "There are certain things you don't have to worry about when you live in a van. Normal things mammals deal with, you know, like neighbors, water bills, or having to buy condoms. Yeah, it should go without saying that I never brought a girl back to my van for a little lovin'." Let the noise die down. "But there are different things you don't have to worry about when you live in an apartment. For example, have any of you ever had your APARTMENT TOWED? BECAUSE THAT'S HOW MY NIGHT STARTED. At first I was sad that my home, my things, all of it is sitting in an impound lot somewhere in the city. But ironically, that means I'm the most fuckable I've been since I got here, so I GOT A GOOD FEELING ABOUT TODAY!"

A few rude gestures for comedic effect and it's go time. "Folks, we've got a lot of really funny mammals here tonight, but as a warning I'll be back out a few times in-between, so please stay at your tables and just... I guess go to the bar whenever you see me, that'll kill some time." I pull out my notes. "Please welcome our first guest of the morning, SANDRA HENDRICK!"

As dawn breaks, I follow Harry to his apartment. He was kind enough to volunteer his couch. Insistent, even. I glance toward the rising sun and sigh. Cheese and rice, I hate this city.


	2. Soul for Sale

The wolf queen howled with vicious laughter. So adventuresome a prize to be brought before her, bound and supine, as naked as a meal on her table. “So stout a morsel my huntresses have found for me, despite your size! Hale and swift you may be, you proved no match for my finest stalkers. Though they will sing to their pups of the fight you gave them, I fear your legend must finally end, barbarian.” The lusty howls of her huntresses echoed through the damp halls of the castle, bringing with them a heart-piercing chill reminiscent of the banshees on the moors of Dannmarch. The dusky enchantress approached and ran the tips of her fingers gently along his dear knife, which lay upon his stomach, rigid in bold defiance of his captor.

 _'Like a pup to a toy,'_ he thought, reading her every motion with care. _'No she-wolf can resist so well-crafted a weapon.'_ Even in the hour of death, he was not defeated - he was living proof that, while his heart still beat, a barbarian’s claws were always sharp. _'Should she spend more time admiring my birthright, I may fray these bonds...'_

The pridesome seductress stroked her paw along his rippled, scarlet chest, admiring her prize. “Long have I heard tales from beyond my hold. Stories of your ferocity, testament to your bravery and... savagery. Oft have I wondered how so slight a warrior could wield with such effect so mighty a weapon! However genuine those tales may be, young champion, you have proven no match for me, no matter the size of your spea-“

As she gloated, haughty and resplendent in her scanty gold-trimmed gown, he noted a softening cross her visage. A moment of thought, perhaps? A fond recollection? When for the blink of an eye she took her watch from his bondage, she had cost herself her final victory. Freed from his bonds, he pounced on the pitiless sorceress. Gripping fast to her blacksome pelt with his agile paws, he pinned his erstwhile captor on her back against the silken carpetry of her throne room. "If it is prey you would have, witch... you must take care to dull their claws!" He roared, feeling her tense and tremble as he thr

"WHAT THE _FUCK_ AM I _WRITING?!_ " I shriek, slamming my paws on the table and throwing my coffee aside. Every eye in the shop is fixed on me now, and I'm certain a barista or... their boss, the maestro or something, is about to ask me to leave before I cause a scene. "Don't worry, everybody, I was just leaving, go back to talking about your hipster scumbag recycled-clothing banjo choir or whatever." Yeah, that's a good thing to say out loud. Surely nobody will remember the asshole stomping out, screaming, and insulting everything that this overpriced artisanal piece of shit 'coffee' house stands for.  
  


I don't know why I'm even trying. Sure, I studied writing, but that was before I knew how worthless a major it was. I should have gone to trade school. Hell, I could have stayed home and dragged the sea for herring like my mom, and her dad, and his dad... dammit, now I'm thinking of my van again. Still has the family name on the side, and still smells like fifty years of the daily catch. Goddamn this city. Fuck hope, fuck trying to get ahead... that tigress seemed so capable, so professional. Wants to start a magazine, needs writers to fill it up, wants something _erotic and exotic_ in her words, _and_ she already owns a very successful business? On paper it's a terrific proposal. In reality, it's a betrayal of my very soul, but I can't return that thirty-dollar advance she practically forced on me.

Is this what I've come to? Writing shitty, porny fanfiction of a character whose life I've written and rewritten countless times since I could first string ideas together? Rauðr deserves better than this... he's why I got into writing, he's the child of the stories my grandfather would tell, he was my escape from this world when life was hell. To be reduced to this? _'Gonad the Barbarian in the Den of the Wolf Queen?'_ I should mail my degree back and ask for a refund, that's what I ought to do. Cheese and rice, I've wasted my fucking life on this dream, and I've got nothing to show for it. I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my snout. Maybe it's not so bad. A lot of mammals get their start doing things they disagree with. Maybe she'll want it for her magazine. If she does, I'll be able to drink the pain away.

I need a smoke to settle me down. With my shitty laptop stuffed in my shoulder bag, I dig out my pipe and start packing the bowl. Fuck, I feel like such a douche with this thing. I still try to hide sometimes, as if I were smoking opium. It costs too much to buy goddamn cigarettes in this city. Harry suggested I try rolling my own, but that's too much work... so I bought this fucking pipe, not realizing at the time that it makes me look like the biggest hipster dickhead on the planet. Fucking hipsters. I get judged for my goddamn glasses because of them, and I fucking need them! Fucking hipsters ruin everything!  
  


I finally make it to the Embryo, where Harry's helping Ned unload a shipment. Ned's... pretty much what you'd expect from an old hippie record-store owner. Overweight, smells overwhelmingly of the nip, wearing a ratty old captain's hat that tries desperately to tame more hair than a lion ought to have. "Anything good come in?"

Harry shows me an album, grinning widely. "New re-releases of the Denizens, you interested? Think we got some Barking Heads, too." Now I admit, if it weren't for the damn hipsters, Ned and Harry wouldn't be able to afford rent. Vinyl making a comeback, who'd have thought? Maybe one day I'll give it a try, assuming I don't starve or get run over first.

"Hey, what's going on at Giggles? Looks like it's closed down."

"Oh, dude, Gary had to close up for some electrical work. He's been putting it off for a while, but someone got zapped at the late show yesterday morning."

"Shit. When's he reopening?"

"Should be back up and running in a few days, tops. He's friends with some guy who does wiring all over the city, so the club's in good hands."

I groan. I have - make that _had_ a set scheduled for later this morning, so I'm fucked, I guess. "Well, that's great. I'll just have to go perform street magic for quarters, I guess."

"No, fuck that, man. A few of us regulars are gonna get together at Norm's place, and you're one of us, now, so you're good to hang out."

"Oh, all right." I shrug. "Doesn't pay my tickets, but I can show up."

"Damn right! You've never lived until you've hung out and ripped the shit out of bad movies with the rest of us assholes."

"I've never lived until that? I heard that phrase a lot from my dad, most often when he was trying to get me to be more outgoing."

"Well that shit didn't work, did it."

"Short answer's no, it didn't."

"Do I want to hear the long answer?"

"I need to get pretty drunk before I can relive some of that shit. Knowing your sick sense of humor, you'll probably love it."

"Nice."  
  


I hang around until dawn, then follow Harry out as Ned stays behind to lock up. It's not a long walk. It seems like everyone I know lives around here; makes sense, since most mammals I really know are other comedians. You won't find many comics living in 'nice' neighborhoods, it's not a good career choice. "So dude, this is your first time hanging out with the gang, so I understand if you're a little skittish, but don't be. Nobody's really an asshole, we all just act this way around each other."

"Well that's reassuring." The strangest thing I've noticed, even back in school, is that I have a much easier time putting myself on stage than sitting down with other mammals. I think it's an intimacy thing, or something. On a stage it's almost a one-way interaction. I don't have to worry whether I'm making enough eye contact or whether I look like I'm listening. Actually listening is its own problem entirely. I'll get so caught up in my own head that I'll miss entire conversations, and I come off looking dumber or douchier than I actually am, which sucks. "We stopping here?"

Harry leads me into a little corner store. "Yeah, grabbin' some stuff. Gonna get the hunger this morning, for sure." As he loads up on the usual sort of snacks - cheese puffs, chocolate, and beetle bites - I look around a bit. "Chet's responsible for the drinks because he made a dumb bet last time, so we don't gotta worry about that. Normally everyone brings something and we all bitch about the selection, but I'll bring enough for the both of us, since you're tight right now."

Damn, Harry's a pretty good guy, I think. Aside from lending me his couch for as long as I need it, I've learned he's almost casually generous. I don't know where he learned it, or if it's just natural for him, for that matter, but he's a saint in this city of thieves and assholes. I won't come with empty paws, however. I begin my search for... damn shelves in this store are too high, how is anyone supposed to find anything? Harry eventually finds me climbing the shelves, and announces it's time to go.

"What you got?"

"Holy shit, why is fish so goddamn expensive here? We're right on the sea."

"Oh dude, anything not bugs or plants is fucking ridiculous. I blame hippies."

"Well I can afford two of the small cans, since I guess I don't have to worry about feeding myself today."

From the corner store it's hardly a block's walk to Norm's building. We pass one stoop on the way, on which sits a black wolf who gives us the stink-eye as we pass. "Does she have a problem with us, or does she just look like that?"

"Man, I think she just looks like that. I don't really wanna find out one way or the other."

"HEY! You two gonna kiss, or just whisper sweet nothings?" she barks, cigarette hanging out of her mouth.

Harry and I exchange a glance. I'm not as experienced as he is with hecklers, but I take the initiative. "Damn, is it Howloween already? You're so scary I about shit my pants when I saw you." Harry spares a chuckle for my effort, but there's little time to linger as she rises to her feet. "Okay, shit, move," I whisper, as Harry leads me the final few yards to safety. Neither of us is really keen on being punted. Once we're inside there's a bit of a climb, but Norm's door is open and waiting for us.  
  


"My mammal, what up Harry?" Norm doesn't resemble a bear as much as he does a furry bowling ball with a bear's head and limbs. His voice is altogether surprising at first, being much higher and softer than expected. He uses that to great effect when he's on stage, and his giggle is dangerously infectious. Aside from him, there's Chet, who I guess to be a puma; Audra, maybe some kind of mongoose; and Billie, a... coyote? This city has mammals in it I never read about in any books. I can identify maybe half a dozen species with absolute certainty, but for most I have to figure it out on the lowdown.

"Hey Harry. Is this the guy with the rape van?"

"WOW. Well it's been great meeting you all, I think I'm gonna go now." That's a pretty reasonable response, right? I mean, first of all, I don't want to be seen as some weirdo who lives in a van. That's challenging enough when I already live in a van. I don't need someone starting rumors. Second, that's a pretty sore subject. Harry catches me by the shoulder and turns me back into the apartment.

"Dude, Billie, dial that back. You can be your cunty self about everything else, but he's a little torn up about his van." Among normal mammals, that would have been insulting. Among the fractured and defective minds assembled here, however, it's funny - even Billie's laughing.

Norm introduces himself, and is kind enough to name the rest of the group. I know their names, of course, since I've seen them all on stage at least once, but this is my first time actually meeting them. They seem nice. They'll seem nicer after a drink or two, when my nerves have settled. Minutes of idle chatter pass and the room feels more bearable.

"So you're, like, some kinda weasel, right?" I'd guess that Billie's been drinking since she got here, and from the cans and bottles nearby, she got here early.

"In the same way you're a... chihuahua, I guess."

"I'm a dingo, asshole."

"Well I'm a polecat... uh, bitch."

Norm slaps his thigh, shaking the whole apartment. Boy, he laughs easily. "You gonna make me piss myself!" Hopefully he doesn't pee easily.

Chet tosses Billie another drink to keep her happy. "I know a few polecats, is that color a family thing?"

I nod. "Yeah, I get a lot of questions about it because I don't have the mask or anything. I just look like a weasel to most mammals."

"That's wild. Where you from?"

Harry interjects. "Dude, Reese is from the middle ages, I swear. I Zoogled his hometown, and it's fucking nuts, like you expect to see a dragon pop out but they've got cell phones."

"No shit?"

I'm not a big fan of my hometown. I love the area, I miss it, but the town... growing up there wasn't fun. "Yeah, it's... they're really, really proud of tradition there, and I mean to the point they're fucking assholes. They could make money from tourism or from letting some archaeologists look around, but if you're not a mink they don't want you sticking around."

Chet blinks. "You said you're a polecat."

"Yeah, and I also didn't stick around." I take another sip from my drink. Not much of a beer drinker, but this... well, it doesn't suck, and it helps me fit in. "They tolerate my dad because they don't want to fuck with my mom, but growing up fucking sucked."

"Your mom a polecat, too?"

"No, can we talk about something else? I'm not really into this."

Harry raises his paws and shuts Chet and Billie up before they ask any more. "My dudes, it is movie time. Norm, what's on the bill tonight?"

"Man, this might be the best one yet. 'Attack of the Lepus.' You ever see a ten-foot bunny eat mammals before?"

"Holy shit, are you serious?"

"Mammal, do I lie? I hope you all got buckets, 'cuz the seventies 'staches in this gonna make you puke."

Norm wasn't kidding about the seventies moustaches, and this movie is just... holy shit. I'm gonna need another beer.


	3. Breakfast of Champions

Dusk has fallen. It's time to hunt. I creep through the scrub, naked but for a scrap of hide around my hips. A lone rabbit stands in the distance, gathering seeds and berries. I can hear others from his warren chattering farther away, and growing farther. He doesn't notice he's alone. He doesn't realize he's dead. My chine will eat well tonight. Disease has driven the birds from here, and frogs aren't filling; I feel no sorrow for him. This is his fate. He turns his head, and I crouch in some grass. He sees nothing, no one, and in shock, he freezes. He shouts for a friend, but they will not hear him. If they do, they will not reach him. Better that I take this one from them, if he doesn't have the sense to run. The last thing he sees is a flash of white as I sink my teeth into his neck.

I sit up straight, screaming, and push myself backward into a wall. I can feel paws on me. I can hear voices, but I can't see who's speaking. My glasses... I need my _SLAP!_ "OW, GODDAMNIT WHAT THE HELL?!"

"Dude, not necessary!" That's Harry. I'd know that 'dude' anywhere.

"What?! That's what you do when someone won't stop screaming!" I think that's Billie. "Fucking woke me up... deserved it." Yeah, pretty sure.

"Reese, you okay? What the hell is going on?"

I squint, barely able to make out the masked silhouette in front of me. "Harry? Holy shit, I think I almost shit myself."

"Cheese and fucking crackers, I think you _did_..."

"Billie, shut the fuck up!" Harry shouts, turning back to me. "Man, what the hell happened?"

"I... uh, I had... the worst fucking dream." Shit, I think I did stink in my pants. Fucking evolution. "I'm gonna need to use your shower, Norm."

Norm groans from the couch, waving his arm... maybe pointing. Harry hands me my glasses so I can get cleaned up. "Yeah, uh, you do that."

I'm shaking as I close the door. I don't think I've ever had a dream so bad, certainly not since I was a kit, but the stress... ever since I moved to this city, it's been non-stop, and it's getting out of hand. Worst of all, it's really having an effect on my sleeping, which just compounds the stress. I tear my shirt off and smell it, trying to see if I can still wear it. Okay, a little musk-mask should do the trick. My jeans should be good with a bit more, I don't think anything soaked through. I don't even want to think about my poor boxers. I may as well burn them, or find a couple plastic bags, because they're - why the fuck am I hard right now?! Fucking adrenalin, FUCKING EVOLUTION!

I know this evening's really going to be rough when I realize the scale of Norm's bathroom. Cheese and rice, the soap's almost as big as my head, and there's no way I'm reaching the knobs... guess I'm using the sink. Fuck this city and everything in it, seriously. Everything's either scaled for small rodents or medium-to-large mammals. Walking anywhere takes forever because of it. Fuck, I miss my van. I do the best I can in the sink and dry off with Norm's paw towel, since I forgot to ask for anything.  
  
  


As I leave the bathroom, I hear someone complaining about breakfast. We must still have something left from this morning, we can't have gone through all of it. "Hey, did anyone open the fish I brought? I think I fell asleep before we did."

"Motherfucker brought fish without telling me?! You best be jokin'!" Norm's eyes look like they're about to pop out of his head, but he seems disappointed as I put the two meager cans on the table.

"What's that look about? I can't afford the prices here, they're fucking ridiculous."

Harry hops onto a chair beside me. "Don't sweat it, we can get food somewhere. Open those up, man!"

Billie doesn't seem interested. "Wow, is there anything you got that doesn't smell?"

Audra rolls her eyes. "Put a couple corks in your nose or shut up, all right? Maybe cut back on the drinking and your head wouldn't hurt so bad."

Billie shrugs. "What's the fucking fun in that?" She is, honestly, not a _total_ asshole. Her story about getting kicked out of nursing school had me laughing so hard I almost threw up last night. She's much more bearable when she's not sober.

"Okay, I've got anchovies and kippers. Take your pick." Chet and Norm go for a couple kippers each, which make barely a mouthful for either of them. I pause, considering what they have to deal with; while I may have trouble getting up stairs, these guys probably spend most of what they make on food. A single kipper is almost a meal for me. Harry and Audra try an anchovy each, while Billie abstains. "I can't believe how much fish fucking cost here. I mean, I guess I have the worst point of reference, though. I just don't know why my parents aren't filthy rich at these prices."

"Your folks fish?" Chet asks, seeming interested.

"Yeah, they've been fishing there for centuries, maybe longer. I grew up on almost nothing but fish, because that's all there is, and they're practically free. Where I grew up is basically a bunch of boats, a bunch of little houses, and a fish-packing plant."

Billie shakes her head. "Holy shit, no wonder you left. That sounds boring as shit." For once, she's right. It was absolutely as boring as shit.

"Yeah. I love the sea and the area, but there's fucking nothing to do unless you like fishing and drinking."

"...Shit. Maybe it's not so bad after all."

I laugh. "You wouldn't fit in the tavern, and you wouldn't like the drink sizes."  
  
  


The fish is all gone but nobody's really satisfied. Chet pulls out his keys, shaking them for effect. "Who's up for Bug Burga? I think they've extended their breakfast hours, let's go."

Norm, unsurprisingly, agrees. "Shit yeah mammal! Lemme get my jacket." That, however, is surprising. It's not cold outside, and he definitely doesn't need the warmth. I'm about to question this when Harry pulls me aside.

"Okay, this is gonna seem weird, but you're gonna have to ride in Norm's jacket pocket."

I... really don't know what to say to that.

"If Chet drives around with you and Audra in there, he can get a ticket for unsafe transportation."

Of course. Unsafe transportation of undersized mammals. This city sucks for everyone, big and small, when you need booster seats in your friend's car or they get a big fat ticket. "Oh... uh, okay, just... do I need a snorkel or something?"

Audra shrugs. "Yeah, it's weird at first, but it's good for sneaking into movies." Oh, yeah. Sounds super fun. I still think I'd rather ride in the glove box.

After what feels like a very long drive, we make it to the nearest Bug Burga and order what must be half their inventory. The badger on the register doesn't seem fazed at all, but he knows Norm by name, so I imagine this must happen often. It takes a while, but eventually our order comes up. Instead of eating, I find myself transfixed, watching Chet and Norm put away sandwich after sandwich, easily eating my body weight or more each. I haven't even touched mine. That dream just keeps gnawing at the back of my mind. I keep wondering if biting into this will feel like... no. No, I don't want to think about that.

"You not hungry?"

Halfway startled, I look to Harry, who's stopped eating. "Uh, not as hungry as I thought I was. I think I'll just eat the side, you want my sandwich?" He happily accepts, and it's gone in two bites. Kind of weird how he dips everything in water, but I've seen stranger things since living here.

"Whadda you bitches wanna do now?" All of us, and probably a quarter of the restaurant, turn to face Billie. From her expression, I think she enjoys this kind of attention.

Harry is the first to speak. "I've got some nip at my place. We could have a fucking awesome night."

"Normally, dude, I am all for that, but I'm not DDing again. Y'all made me go through that auto-wash five times, that shit gets expensive," Chet announces. Everyone else loses their minds in laughter, even some of the other booths.

"DUDE, okay, I promise. Who else? Any more ideas?"

Audra raises a paw. "We could get high and make fun of the conspiracy bloggers. Everyone I know online says they've really lost it this time, so it must be something good."

Billie cocks her head. "Wow, that sounds like a barrel of fucking laughs. I'd rather watch Flocks News and blow my brains out."

Half out of reflexive politeness and half out of genuine interest, I ask Audra what she means. As everyone else talks she shows me a few sites on her phone, and I can't believe the stupidity of it. "Seriously? They're wasting their time on that?"

"I know, right? It's like they've never heard of birds before. Some seeds don't get digested, and the birds crap 'em out on tiny islands."

"Hold on a second, what's that one on about?"

"Oh, that... I don't usually read those ones because they freak me out. I know it's all basically fantasy, but anything with the s-word really gets under my fur."

"S-word?"

She looks around, slightly nervously. "You know. Savage. It's been coming up more and more for a few weeks now. It doesn't exist, I know, but I think I watched some movies I shouldn't have when I was too young."

"Yeah, it's all... I remember things like that in stories, but they're just folktales. What website is that?" I pull it up once she tells me and it's... wow. I really hope a lot of these mammals don't really believe any of this, because I don't think there are enough facilities in the world to handle a mental health crisis of this magnitude. The government poisoning the air, veterinarians poisoning their patients, the shrews secretly controlling everything... have there always been mammals who believe this shit? Call me sheltered, but wow, this world is fucked if these mammals vote.  
  
  


Audra and Billie head out. They're lucky enough to have a couple gigs lined up later tonight, and at pretty good clubs, no less. The rest of us sit around for a bit until Harry nearly jumps out of his skin. "YOU GUYS. I JUST REMEMBERED SOMETHING."

"That's a first," jokes Chet. "I didn't think you could do that anymore."

"Ha, ha. Dude, I gotta get to my apartment. I know it's in there. Tonight's gonna _rock_." With some interest, we head to Harry's place where the treasure he promises lies hidden. Also, I can put on some clean clothes... and boxers. I never knew I'd miss them so much, and so quickly. "YES! You guys, I found it!" Harry emerges from his closet, holding a small baggie as if it were a holy relic.

"That's nice," says Chet, who's looking in through the window. "Wanna bring it outside where we can see it?"

Back in the car, Harry is almost bouncing in his seat with joy.

"So... you want to go to the duck pond _why?_ "

"Because they've got the statue park, man, and there's nobody there this time of night. We'll have it all to ourselves!"

Chet shakes his head. "Why the statue park? What've you got, stop being coy about it."

As they argue, I look out the window. A lone rabbit, working late, drives by in a street sweeper, and I freeze.

"You okay, man?" Norm asks, looking down at where I'm tucked into his jacket.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm... I'm fine, just remembered something." I can't believe that dream is still in my head. It was so vivid. I can't remember the last time I had a stalking dream, I must have been a kit. Why wasn't it a falling dream, or a late for the big test dream, or a getting-run-over-by-a-car dream? Why a stalking dream? Why did I read so many of those conspiracy theories, all that bullshit about predators going savage? Is it therapeutic, or am I just trying to convince myself none of it is real? Before I can finish my thoughts, we're at the statue park. This is probably the nicest place I've seen since living here; there are tall trees, there are wild birds, and there's... oh. Yeesh. Well, that's... it's... well, it's art, I guess. Some of these statues look like the artist was just slapping anything together for a paycheck.

"Okay, you guys. I hope you're ready for the greatest night of your lives, because your good buddy Harry's got some SWEET SILLY SIMON in his pocket!"

Chet and Norm clutch each other humorously, as if in awe of what looks like a bag of dried pieces of turds. "Harry, you are makin' me question my preferences right now!" laughs Norm, giggling with delight.

"I really don't know what I'm looking at, here."

The three of them look at me, surprised, and Harry speaks first. "Dude, you've never had mushrooms?"

"Oh. No, I've heard of them, but I never hung out with anyone who did them. I mean, I studied literature, acting, and singing, not painting or sculpting." I shrug, half-joking. "What... what do I do?"

"Well first you tell me what you weigh, so I know how much to give you." Sure enough, Harry's already dividing it up. I'm sure I'm in good paws with him here, he's a smart guy. Granted, he was either kicked out or dropped out of veterinary school, _probably_ in part due to his hobbies, but he must have learned something while he was there. I mean, he's got a scale and everything. I'm surely overthinking this.

We sit around and talk for a while, waiting for magical things to happen, I guess. They assure me, multiple times, that you have to wait; it's not instant. Just when I'm about to decide mushrooms are boring, everything gets... colorful? A little more colorful. Happy, even. Before I know it, we're laughing like children and looking at cool statues that move and sway, so happy to see us and so glad to be here for us. Norm declares he's king of the mountain, despite there being no mountains around. When Chet confronts him with this fact, he shrugs, and says he's king of a mountain, he's just not sure which one at the moment. We laugh and laugh, running to the next statue on the path.

I feel... different. I feel so close to everything, like I'm a part of nature. Nature doesn't wear shirts, I say, and I hand my shirt and pants to a nearby bush, who's more than happy to hold onto them for me. Harry, Norm, and Chet all laugh as I creep around on all fours, trying to feel the earth beneath me. I am one with the earth! We're all one with it, we've just forgotten that. We live our lives separated from nature, building walls and doors to keep it out, with windows to let it see in. Bars keeping it out, keeping us in. It must get sad, lonely even, to see us locked up inside with nothing but our TVs and microwaves to keep us company. It's a damn travesty is what it is.

Why do we live like that, I wonder? Why do we try to deny where we came from and what we are? For convenience? If I lived in a hole I'd dug, the city wouldn't have been able to tow it away! Why, if we all lived in holes we'd dug, we wouldn't need a city at all! We'd have each other, we'd have nature, and we'd have the world to provide for our every need. My god, it would be beautiful. I love everything and everyone right now. Is this enlightenment? Is this the great truth that we've all forgotten, that we ignore and abhor in favor of the modern workaday world that drives us to drink and gives us heart disease? I don't know. All I know is that I'm an animal.

Yes. An animal. I'm an animal, I'm a wild, living manifestation of nature. A hungry creature looking for a meal and, maybe later, a mate. Wait, why am I all wet. Why are they looking at me like that? There's a feather in my mouth, why am I... oh, this is delicious! What is this? What am I...

Oh god I think I killed a duck.


	4. Bathtime in Kitchenwell

This park is situated pretty far from any residences or open businesses, thankfully. Harry knows his shit, after all, and guided us to pretty much the ideal spot: open, quiet, diurnal. Nobody's around to hear the screaming.

"GET HIM TO THE CAR! Get him in! Don't- shit, grab his clothes, they're in the bush!" Harry cries, disposing of the evidence in a public trash can.

"OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH FUCK."

"I got 'im! You okay, man, you gonna be fine! I got 'im, GO!" Norm stuffs me in his jacket, rushing to the car. It's warm here, dark, and cozy. Calming, even. I've never seen these three so quiet. It's almost deafening in a way. I can hear everything: the tires on the road; their breath, each one with a different rhythm, a different tone; the pounding of Norm's heart as he holds me in an inside jacket pocket. Not a word is spoken until the car is off and the doors open.

"Open the door, open the door. Shit. We gotta get inside, the sun's comin' up, did you get his shirt? Okay. Everyone in." If I were aware of my surroundings, I'd have to conclude Harry's done things like this before.

I don't know what I'm feeling right now. I know I'm not calm. I feel cold, but that's probably because I'm half-naked. Am I in shock? I look at my paws, noticing my claws as if for the first time. Red... but not my red, this is blood. Not mine. Not anyone's. I can still feel it, the struggle of a living creature as it thrashes, fighting for its life. The feeling of my teeth on its neck. The blood on my lips, the crack of its spine, the last twitch of its life as it dies in my jaws. The blood on my paws... I... I want to taste it. One more time, I need to... So warm, so fresh, like nothing else I've ever tasted. The meat so tender, so wet, my god, is this how it feels to be truly alive? My ears are ringing, my heart is pounding. Everything so bright, as if I've never seen before, and oh my god I think I'm GOING TO THROW UP.

"Shit! Stop screaming, man!" My mad scrambling is little trouble for Norm to handle, being that I'm a tiny fraction of his size. I suppose he's more worried I might inhale some water. Or I would suppose, were I in any frame of mind besides fight-or-flight.

Chet runs into the kitchenette, towels in his paws. "What's going on?!"

"HE'S LOSIN' HIS MIND!" Norm holds me in the sink as I thrash and scream, scrubbing me with dish soap. I likely won't remember this, not that it matters. I have little dignity left. These things happen between friends anyway, you know? Well, maybe between the kind of mammals I'm friends with. I don't know about you.

"REESE! DUDE, IT'S OKAY. YOU'RE SAFE, IT WAS JUST A BAD TRIP." Chet grabs me, wrapping me in towels and covering my face. Is he worried I'll bite? Does he think the darkness will calm me down? Whatever his reason, I don't have it in me to keep going. My mind is returning. I know I need to get ahold of myself. I need something else to think about, something to distract me. I don't have a book... no, I don't need a book. I have more than books. I have better than books. I have the stories my grandfather told me.

I remember him telling me, years ago, about how things used to be. Not when he was young, much longer ago. So long that all we have are stories; nothing written survived, save a few rocks with lines carved in them. Those have been translated, and are pretty underwhelming from a literary standpoint. Things like "this is where Hallr was," or "Magni's farm ends here." The old stories were put onto paper only centuries ago, but they still live, as they always have, in retellings. Tales of battles fought and won, warriors dying and living on in the afterworld - I know there's no afterworld. There are no valkyries taking the souls of dead minks to prepare for the end of the world. No such thing. They do live forever, though. In the songs and stories that tell their names, a thousand or more years after their deaths, they live on in a way.

I can remember their names and stories perfectly. Countless nights at my grandfather's side, listening. It was then that I wanted to tell stories. Studying literature, studying drama, singing, all of it came from back then. Life hasn't gone as planned. Nobody in the city wants to hear any of that, and if they do, they bought a book already. Those stories don't live in books, but nobody realizes it; the book is a coffin, a tombstone, where the words lie still, as if dead and buried. The stage, the screen even, that's where they belong. But there's no money in it. Comedy, for now at least, almost pays my bills.  
  
  


I'm pulled out of my mind by a gentle shake. Merely a blob of grey and black, Harry is staring me in the face. "Dude. Reese? Are you okay. Say something."

"I... oh my god, what happened."

"It was a bad trip, man. You're okay now. Do you want anything? Water, something to eat, music?"

"I'd kinda like my glasses. Who else is here?"

"We're at Norm's."

"I'm... am I naked?" I look at myself, unable to really see much. I think I'm wrapped in a towel. It feels like a towel. It probably weighs half as much as I do, from how much of it there is. I'm almost imprisoned.

"Yeah, you uh, we had to clean you up. You cool with that?"

I nod slowly. "There was... there was a bunch of blood, wasn't there."

"Dude."

"Yeah, I think I remember it. You guys, uh, you don't know any therapists who work for free, do you?"

Chet finally brings me my glasses. "Man, you're gonna be fine. You had a bad trip, is all."

"I don't think that was just a bad trip. That was... that was serious, I think, wasn't it? Cheese and rice, I'm never doing mushrooms again."

"Seriously, you'll be fine, you're just freaking out. What you're feeling is normal, we've all been there. You're just coming down." He sounds... reassuring. Comforting, even. I have no reason to doubt him.

"Um, quick question. How did I get cleaned up?"

Harry chuckles. He's either honestly laughing, or he's trying to make me feel more comfortable. It doesn't hurt, honestly. "Dude, Norm washed you in the sink like a dirty spoon. You freaked out on him a little bit."

"Oh shit, I didn't... did I hurt him?"

Norm laughs, his infectious giggle threatening to spread throughout the apartment. "Mammal, you think your little claws can get through my fur? You good."

"Veiða-birnir," I say, without thinking.

"Vita-bins?" Harry replies. "What?"

"No, no... stories, sagas, stories my grandpa told me. Bear hunters. Minks so crazy, they'd go after _bears_. Brown bears three, four hundred times their size."

Norm looks at me incredulously. "Minks huntin' bears, man? Really?"

"I'm not making this up. Seriously, they had spears, they'd... I sound like a fucking lunatic. Okay really, I swear, there are stories. Holy shit. Harry, get me my laptop, I have to write this down." I stand up, out of the towel, forgetting I'm entirely naked. "Shit... where's my pants, what the hell?"

With clothes on me, and my laptop plugged in, I begin typing feverishly. Everything that comes to mind, I put it down in text in that order, rambling silently but for the tapping of the keys. I haven't taken enough time to write lately, and what I did write was... regrettable. This, this is what my professor called inspirado, where you just go to your notebook or your computer and vomit your brain into it. Notes, it's notes. Put everything down, then sort through it. You can make something from it, if you try. Another tale of Rauðr, fighting giants, maybe. Bears, of course, but giants is more vague, more fantasy-oriented of a term.

"Oh man. Oh, man. I'm gonna need to find all the theaters around here. I'm gonna be bugging those fuckers until they can't take it anymore."  
  
  


I can't tell, but they've quickly lost interest in my stupid, fevered bullshit for the moment. After the night we've had, I can't blame them; I pretty much killed the mood forever. Doubt I'll ever try mushrooms again, that's for sure.

Harry sits between Norm and Chet on the couch, all three sharing an overized joint, and glances my way intermittently. "Reese. You doin' okay?"

"Huh? Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

"You wanna get in on this?"

"Maybe later. I can't write when I'm on something. I've got to do this."

"All right, dude, just don't get mad if we run out. These boys got some big ol' lungs on 'em."

I shrug, keeping my mind on the story. From the sounds behind me, I'd guess they're watching a children's show now and loving it. Doesn't bother me. Li'l Lammy's Playground is a really good show when you're stoned, I'm not gonna argue. Something distracts me, though. A large paw on my shoulder, buff in color. I turn my head to see Chet staring back at me, curiously.

"Hey, you doing all right?"

"...Yeah. Yeah, I think I'm all right now. You good?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's good. Can... can I ask you something? It's kinda weird, so... don't freak out, okay?"

"Oh, uh, sure. What's up?"

"When you... uh, when you had that, uh, duck. What was... I mean, what did... how did it taste?"

"Dude."

"No, man, don't freak out, I'm sorry. I just... I'm too curious, man, I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's... you're cool."

"Okay."

"Chet?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think... holy shit. I don't think I've ever tasted anything so good. I think it's going to haunt me for the rest of my life."

"Goddamn. Shit, you think you can do that again?"

I turn slowly to stare him dead in his eyes. He can't be fucking serious. He loses his composure pretty quickly, unable to hold back laughter. "Dude, you are such an asshole." Okay, it's pretty funny, at least given how our morning's been. There's no such thing as 'too soon' among comics, because we're all pretty terrible mammals in general. "All right, you guys don't have to laugh that fucking hard." I save my work and shut my laptop, climbing onto the arm of the couch. "What's on?"

"I don't know, man, Lammy just ended. OH SHIT." Harry's startled, as we all are, by a sudden bulletin... wait, really? Breaking news on a kid's channel? Then again, I suppose there are bound to be parents watching with their kits. Still not the choice I'd make, but I don't know the TV business.

"What the hell, they gonna make us miss the opening song! Big Bob's Bus Station is comin' on!"

"Come on, it's not like we'll miss the episode. Just cool it, bro bear." Chet takes a puff and offers it to me, which I decline for the moment.

_"Ladies and gentle-mammals, fourteen mammals went missing, and all fourteen have been found by our newest recruit, who will speak to you in a moment. They appear to be in good health, physically, if not emotionally. So now, I'll turn things over to the officer who cracked the case, Officer Judy Hopps."_

"Oh, hey. I guess those conspiracy goons weren't making everything up."

Harry looks at me. "Oh man, were you reading that shit? I don't know how Audra stands it."

_"What can you tell us about the animals going savage?"_

"Wait, what'd he just say?" Chet sits up straight, grabbing the remote to turn up the volume.

_"Well, the... the animals in question... Are they all different species? Yes, yes they are."_

_"Okay, so what is the connection?"_

_"Oh, all we know is that they are all members of the predator family."_

Norm starts to giggle. Whether it's the nip or the sheer absurdity of it all is anyone's guess. Harry and Chet fall to its contagious nature, which honestly is probably due to the nip.

_"So, predators are the only ones going savage?"_

_"That is accu... Yes, that is accurate, yes."_

"This... this is ridiculous. I knew twenty-four hour news was stupid, but cheese and rice, can you guys believe they're putting this on the air?"

_"Why? Why is this happening?"_

_"We still don't know. But it may have something to do with biology."_

I force a laugh. "Holy shit, man, change the channel, I can't believe this shit." I snag the remote from Chet, only to discover that the newscast is on every station. "Oh what the fuck, come on."

_"A biological component. You know, something in their DNA."_

_"In their DNA, can you elaborate on that, please?"_

"This is the most... the most vile, speciest, _unscientific_ thing I've ever fucking heard! What the fuck are they getting at?! I fucking... cheese and rice, we need to go down there right goddamn now, and demand a fucking apology. What the fuck are they _thinking?_ This is... Byronism all over again, it's fucking Byronism! How the... what the fuck..."

_"Will more mammals go savage?"_

_"What is being done to protect us?"_

_"Have you considered a mandatory quarantine on predators?"_

I... I feel lightheaded. I can still smell the blood. The taste is still in my mouth, stuck between my teeth. I swallow hard and the room seems to fall silent.

Harry leans forward, looking at me past Chet. "Dude... dude, are you okay?"

I shake my head slowly. "No... no, I think I'm fucking not okay. I need a drink, and a fucking smoke."


	5. Cool Mint

"Okay. First off, is this a comedy club or a funeral?" Hacky. Completely hacky. "No really, I've been drinking all night and I'm afraid I might be in the wrong building. It is? You're sure?" One or two forced chuckles. "Okay. No, I know where I am. That was a joke. Not the drinking part, but you know what I mean. Everyone doin' good? Yeah? No? Yeah, me neither. I'm really questioning why I'm up here tonight, but really it's... it's for you. All of you, you came here this morning hoping you'd feel better. That's why you're here, and god bless you all for that. Because I need these twenty dollars pretty bad." A few stifled laughs, but laughs nonetheless.

I'm surprised the house is as full as it is. I know most of them are really just trying to drink their worries away, but there are bigger bars with cheaper drinks out there. They chose this place. "I have a confession to make to you all, I've been... I spent most of my day watching Flocks News. Wait- hey, why are you booing me? I don't watch that shit, I just needed material! Come on. No, it's okay, you can boo me. I do that sometimes, too. Anyway. If you want to know what insanity - complete, undeniable insanity - looks like, watch Nancy Graze for two minutes. Only two minutes, that's important. Any longer and you're liable to suffer irreparable brain damage."

I don't know how Flocks News stays on the air. I really don't. When I first got to this city I thought it was satire, albeit harsh and unrelenting satire, but I had hope back then. The most vile, specist things I've ever heard are said all day with one hundred percent sincerity by grown mammals who live in the same society as I do, and now that the acting mayor is a sheep like them, they're acting as if they're untouchable. They've had guests on all day advocating the most despicable 'solutions' to a problem nobody understands yet. A curfew for all predators, martial law, preventative detention. Even worse are the viewers who call in; the talking heads have names and reputations to think about, but the mammals who watch that shit are something else. One old ewe called Shorn Hannity and said all predators should be sterilized 'for her grandchildren's sake.' What scares me the most is that this woman, and everyone like her, is registered to fucking vote.

"I know you're all here to try to forget things. I don't blame you. Unfortunately, I'm a comedian. Current events are my bread and butter. I know you're all going to hate me for this, but I already hate myself a lot, so guess what? _I don't care_." I can feel every asshole in the room clench. It's a feeling that's hard to describe, and there are only a few reliable ways to do that to a crowd. It's absolutely intoxicating, but that may just be the half a bottle of wine I've put down since I got up here. "You know what I think's happening right now? ZOMBIES! Yeah, that's right, FUCKING ZOMBIES Now, I can hear you ask, 'But Reese, how about you shut the fuck up?' No, wait, wrong question. I can hear you ask, 'But Reese, aren't zombies slow and clumsy? Everyone says the mammals going savage are speedy and fierce!'"

I see a few mammals get up and leave the bar. That doesn't surprise me. Rather, I'm shocked that many more are staying, and some are even laughing. "Here's the thing. Rigor mortis, that's what makes zombies slow and stiff. These zombies aren't... they're fresh, so they're still, you know, flexible and shit. What?" Someone shouts something from the back of the bar. "Wait, what? _Why_ are they turning into zombies? Fuck, man, I don't know. Aliens? Let's go with that. I'm gonna say aliens, straight from Uranus. Buddy, I went to art school, I don't know shit about anything. Go ask... go find a veterinarian, and ask them. They got into a _real_ school."

 

Harry, Audra, and I are shuffling home after closing. Only one guy was waiting to kick my teeth in, so it's a good thing I'm with friends. I just bought toothpaste on the way here, I'd be pissed if I had wasted two bucks.

"That set was... mmm..." Audra thinks aloud, hands in her pockets.

"Fucking risky. Dude, normally I'm all for pushing boundaries, but you coulda got your ass kicked." I don't think I've ever seen Harry feeling cautious. That's just _unsettling_.

"Yeah, I don't really care. Shit's so fucked up, part of me is actually wondering if I should ask the cops for a cell just to be safe."

"Dude... that's fucking crazy. You don't need to do that. Don't even say that."

"He's worried, Harry, just like everyone else. Can you blame him?"

"Uh, yeah, because it's ridiculous. Nobody needs to be thinking those things, they're just gonna make it worse!"

"He's not _doing_ it, obviously! Maybe it helps him deal with it, we don't know."

"How is that kind of thing gonna help?! What if everyone thought that? What if every predator just went to their local police station and asked for a cell, what would that look like to everyone else?"

"It would look like they were scared, more scared of all of this than anyone else! Prey don't feel safe because they think they'll be randomly attacked, but _every_ predator in this city is afraid of losing their mind, maybe even hurting their friends!"

"It's not healthy! It's just gonna lead to more stress, and nobody needs that. It's gonna cause everyone problems if they think like that, I'm serious. I'm scared too, I'm not saying it's wrong, I'm just saying that people need to focus on what's important. Their families, their jobs, their routines. That's what matters, not this shit, not this idea that anyone should turn themselves in like a junkie desperate to go clean."

"Do you know why I was up all day, Harry?" I ask, stopping. "I didn't stay up to watch daytime TV, nobody with a working _brain stem_ wants to watch that shit. I stayed up because I keep having nightmares. I don't want to live that shit, I don't want to imagine that shit, and I don't want to become that shit, and I'm fucking _terrified_ that I might."

"Reese! Dude, you're not gonna go psycho! You're just freaking out, trust me, I know this kind of thing."

"You know this? You know this, this exact thing I'm going through, and what, I'm supposed to... to just ignore it? To get stoned all day and night, do nothing, and then sober up only to remember what's going on?"

"NO, I'm not saying that, I'm saying-"

"Then what, what are you saying?!"

"I'm just saying you need to-"

"What about the other night?!"

"What, the _duck?_ Dude, it was a bad trip, yeah they're super fucking scary. I know that. I've _been_ there. You're going to be fine, they just... stick with you for a while sometimes."

Audra looks between us, confused. "Wait. What's this about a duck?"

"Harry, you're not getting it. It's not about that, it's different, it's- how can I fucking explain this to you?"

"Just forget about it! Trust me, dude, you're going to be fine!"

"Is one of you gonna tell me about the duck?"

"It's not that fucking easy! Yeah, I was just freaking out _then_ , but this is _bigger_ than that!"

Harry throws his paws in the air. "You're the one making way too big a deal out of it! It was a fucking duck, they get run over all the time! What does a duck matter?! Let it go!"

"IT'S NOT ABOUT THE FUCKING DUCK! I DON'T GIVE A _FUCK_ ABOUT THE GODDAMN DUCK. YOU DON’T HAVE THIS... THIS INSTINCT IN YOU, YOU’RE, YOU... YOU DIDN’T EVOLVE TO HUNT!” I take a breath, panting. “It’s... I remember it, Harry, as if I’m still there, all of it. I _hunted_ that fucking duck, Harry, _I_ did, not the mushrooms. That’s not in the fucking _mushrooms_ , that’s in ME. Maybe they led to it, but that’s millions of years of evolution, and I’m... I’m what?! What am I!?! I’m a pair of pants and a cell phone away from a fucking wild animal?! That’s _in me!_ That’s inside me, it’s always been there, and it’s always going to be there, and I don’t know if I can fucking deal with that! Look at the news, it’s...” I smack a paw on my face, running it down my snout. “Goddamnit, Harry, I could be NEXT.”

Harry raises his paws, trying to ease me down wordlessly. "Bro, let's just get home. We'll have a smoke, we'll have a snack, and _trust me_ , everything's going to be fine." He puts his paws on my shoulders reassuringly. "You’re _not_ going savage. None of us is going savage, none of us is in danger. _Trust_ me."

I sigh, feeling more angry at myself than anything. He didn't deserve that outburst. "Okay... okay, fine, I'll just... I can go with you on that, if we just get moving."

Audra scoffs as we start walking. "No, really, what the fuck is all this about a duck."

Harry shakes his head. "We were out at the statue park on shrooms, having a fucking awesome time, and Reese killed a duck with his teeth."

"Holy SHIT. Are you fucking with me?!"

"I SWEAR TO GOD, and yeah, we were all really freaked out, but it was the most _metal_ fucking thing I've ever seen."

"Okay, sure, let's downplay the most horrifying thing that's ever happened to me. That's great."

"Dude, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a coincidence, a really shitty coincidence. Come on, we’ve got leftovers waitin’. Audie, you crashing on the couch?”

“Yeah, Billie’s out of town and I don’t really want to be alone today. This whole thing’s got me real freaked out."

 

Why did we walk? Cheese and rice, the fucking sun is up now, how far out was that club? Goddamnit, I miss my van. I could just bug out and go hide in the woods if only I had my van; my home, my sanctum, my ship... Harry points forwards, towards a large park.

"We'll cut through this park. Folks that own it can be kinda dicks, but if we just pass through we should be good."

Unfortunately for Harry's shortcut and our aching feet, the mammals who run this park must watch Flocks. A pair of bull rent-a-cops with cheap sunglasses and cheaper haircuts stand up to block the entry.

"Sorry, park's closed."

Harry puts on his best 'harmless stoner' impression. "Aw maaan, for real? You sure we can't just pass through? We've been walking for _hours_ , dude."

"Park's closed, _man_. Go away." This fucking guy. Does he expect us to believe that? We just saw someone walk past him. A donkey in office wear, with a briefcase in his hoof - obviously not wearing coveralls, and no gardening tools in sight.

Audra groans tiredly. "Seriously, just let us through. Look, there are mammals jogging in there. We know it's not closed, and yeah, we know what you're trying to say."

He steps up, looking down at us like we’ve been naughty. " _Excuse_ me? We're not trying to say anything, but we are saying... park's closed. Go away."

His partner pipes up, "Look, we're just doin' our job. You got a problem with that, why don't you try to call the city? I'm sure they'll get _right_ on it." He snickers, hoof-bumping his colleague in douchebaggery.

Harry drops his act. “Seriously?” He pulls out his phone, tapping in his passcode. “You can let us through or I’m recording this shit.”

“You’re gonna put that away and then you’re gonna walk away, got it?” Great. The meatheads are getting mad.

While Harry argues our case, I turn to Audra and whisper, “I have a _really_ fucking bad idea.”

She furrows her brow and asks, with concern, “Uh, this isn’t gonna get us arrested or squashed to pulp, is it?”

“I don’t know. Possibly. My head really hurts, I don’t want to think too much.”

“What are you doing with that toothpaste?”

“Don’t worry about that. Just... I don’t know, play along. Hold my bag for a minute.”

Harry’s quickly losing his Buddha-like demeanor from arguing with these sodsuckers. I’m still... hmm, yeah, I think I’m just drunk enough to handle the embarrassment of this. I need to find my inspiration. Deep breath... okay, I can do this. I studied this. I can do this. I already hate myself, I can handle a little extra.

As if on cue, Audra shrieks. “WHAT THE FUCK!!” To be honest, that might be a genuine reaction. I’ll worry about that later.

I push forward past Harry and right up to my audience. With my teeth bared, my eyes open wide, and a thick lather of foam around my mouth, I leap and gibber madly, shaking and convulsing like a mammal possessed. As the beefhead brothers speed away, Harry slowly turns to look at me.

“Dude... are you for fucking _real_ right now.”

I spit a few times and wipe my mouth on my sleeve, pulling my glasses from my pocket. “Let’s worry about that later. We should probably run before the real cops show up.”


	6. Now With EXTREME PEPPER

It's so peaceful out here. No ads. No cars. No other mammals. Just me and the wind and the waves, rocking my little faering, the sail luffing gently in the breeze. No land in sight. A ringing snaps me out of my relaxation - the bell on my pole tells me I've hooked something, and it's tenacious! I grasp the handle and start reeling madly, pulling hard to bring my catch to the surface. Strange... I don't remember my bell making this odd sound.

But there's no time to worry about that now, I've got to get this to the surface and into the boat! My fish appears, slowly, but it looks... wrong. I can't think of anything that shape. Nor that light, except maybe the belly of a ha- a halibut?! I've caught a halibut!!! I thought this water was deeper, I never expected such a treat! I can already taste it! I pull hard on my pole, falling backward as I heave it into my boat, only to find... a giant cell phone?!

I jerk awake, sitting up and banging my head against a shelf. "OW! GODDAMNIT, WHAT THE FUCK-" How the fuck am I sleeping in the pantry?! That ringing... SHIT, where the hell is my phone? Forgot to plug the damn thing in... I fall out of the pantry and onto the floor, squinting at the screen. Goddamnit, where the hell are my glasses... I'll have to answer it. Probably another robot... "Hello?"

A cheerful voice, most likely recorded, greets me. "Hi! Is this... Reese Cadoogan?" Okay, maybe it's not recorded. Robots can read a goddamn name.

"Yeah, uh, this... uh, speaking." Oh fuck, my head hurts. Was I trying to drink a memory out of my head this morning? Cheese and rice...

"Hi, Reese. I'm Sherry from Burrows Quality Casting, we have an opening for a mammal like you for the taping of a television commercial. You think that's something you might be interested in?"

A- a casting company? OH SHIT, this could be a paw in the door, holy shit, holy shit... "YES! I mean, uh, yes, _absolutely_. Can you tell me anything about it? When, where, that sort of thing?"

"That's _great!_ We're actually having some difficulty with this particular production, due to the immediacy of the schedule. Can you be here before six PM?"

I... huh? I look at the window, and the sun is very obviously out. Great... not only can't they put together a fucking commercial, they can't get it in their heads that a lot of predators sleep at night. Looks like it's... fucking four. I don't think I've ever _seen_ four PM. "Uh... you're in the Burrows, right? Yeah, I can be there, but... can you tell me anything else? What kind of commercial, what kind of... uh, nevermind, I'll be there."

Need a clean shirt, I'm covered in crumbs. Guess that explains what I was doing in the pantry. Shirt... bag's by the couch. Audra's sleeping on the couch. Need to be quiet. The apocalypse couldn't wake Harry up at this time of day, but for her I need to... oh _fuck_ , my head hurts. How fitting, I'll be hungover for what could be my first break. I love life.

 

With a heart full of dreams, a belly full of coffee, and a bloodstream full of off-the-shelf painkillers, this train is still pissing me off. Why did I take the train? Oh, right, time. Goddamn Burrows. This train is packed with more rabbits than I've ever seen, most of them kits, and _noisy_ kits at that. Cheese and rice, how do their parents stand it? Even without a hangover I'd chew my own leg off just to get away from this train. Just ignore it... deep breaths, Reese. You're getting a paycheck to deal with this.

I find the address, a brightly-painted, brightly-lit, saccharine little building of a studio. Despite the constant stream of hopes and dreams flowing through my mind, all I can think of is how much I hate it. Good grief, we get it, rabbits, you're pretty cute. But does everything have to look like it's freaking gift basket? We get it, you have big ears. Satellite dishes work just fine if they're circular, though. And we GET IT, you get SUPER HARD when anyone mentions fucking carrots! Cheese and rice, maybe they'd get off one another for a minute if they didn't paint that goddamn orange phallus on everything!

I pull myself together as I walk inside. Ugh... everything's pastel. Haven't these mammals ever seen the other colors crayons come in? Really, there's a whole spectrum. Okay. Just keep that commentary in your head, you've got an impression to make. I approach the receptionist calmly, and I'm convinced that paw she moved under her desk is hovering over a silent alarm. "Hi, I'm Reese, I was... I got a call for a commercial."

"OH!" she squeaks. I think my ears may be bleeding. "Of course! Just go right down that hallway to your left, and take a seat past the robin's-egg door!"

"The robin's... what?" She didn't seriously direct me to an egg-shaped door, did she? "Sorry, I'm a little out of it today, I'm not usually up this early."

She giggles at such a high pitch that I wonder, for a moment, if I've wandered into a dentist's office. "No, silly, it's a _robin's-egg blue_ door. It'll be the third door down, it'll be on your right."

I nod, heading down the hall. It's too bright in here. Even if the walls weren't pale yellow it'd be too bright in here. It's not helping my headache. I enter a vacant room and settle into a padded chair, probably the only thing in this building that doesn't anger me, and prepare to wait. And wait. And wait. I'm halfway through a nature magazine before anyone comes to get me.

"Mister Cadogan?"

"OH, uh... yeah, that's..." I glance around, realizing again that I'm the only mammal in this room. "That's pretty obviously me," I chuckle, trying to grin. OH SHIT WAIT, lips closed. No teeth! I need this.

"Perfect," he says, marking something on a clipboard. Is his pen a... carrot? For fuck's sake. He motions me along and leads me to a dressing room, where another rabbit waits.

"Hi! What size do you wear? Let me just get a few-" In only a second, she's all over my personal space - to say nothing of my person - with a measuring tape. I feel like I need an adult. "You really made yourself look wild and scruffy for this, that's real commitment! I'm impressed!." Wow... uh, rude? Then again, I really haven't spent much time grooming lately. She tosses the tape aside and digs through a rack of clothes, picking a couple really plain pieces. "Okay, I have just the outfit. Go ahead and put these on if you would, Lenny will be back in a moment to take you to the set."

Is... is everything like this, or is it just because of the tight schedule? Whatever. I sigh, setting my clothes aside and changing into my... wait, this can't be the right stuff. These clothes are torn to shreds, did she make a mistake? I look through the racks of clothes, and no, they're all stained, ripped, and shredded. Huh. Okay. I guess I'm a guy who fell into a paper shredder and survived. The clipboard rabbit, who I assume to be Lenny, pokes his head in.

"You good? Awesome. Come on out and we'll get this going." I shrug. May as well, I mean, I agreed to do... whatever this is.

 

I see several rabbits in a cluster, chatting on the set of what looks like a grungy city that only exists in bad movies. Never mind that, you're getting paid to be here. I approach carefully, no need to scare them... I hear they're skittish. Especially that one in my dream who- NOPE, not thinking about that. "Uh, hi. I'm... this is the right place?"

A couple of rabbits here are dressed like they're on a date. From the clothes, I'd assume that date was fifty years ago. The young guy looks to me, and confirms my suspicions. "Oh man, yeah! And thank goodness you're here, they said everyone else either didn't show up or they left in a huff. Good on you, man! Maybe we'll finally get this done with today!"

I nod. What... why would they do that? "That sounds weird, but okay. Any reason they would do that? Was... was I not told something?"

His 'date' pipes up. "I wouldn't worry about it, they're probably just prima donnas or something."

Uh huh. I can understand that, I used to have a big head before I spent a year living in a van. "All right. Who's in charge?"

A chubby hare puts his arm around me and starts jabbering, saying all sorts of meaningless words that give me no clue as to what he expects. Clearly I've met the director. "Okay, bud, just dig down deep on this. I know you've got it in you. You're gonna jump out of the alley on the signal, the boyfriend's gonna swing at you, and you just pretend to wallop him, all right? Get rid of those glasses, they'll ruin the whole look."

"Oh, uh, I kinda need these. You know, to see."

"Hmm. Okay, we'll flash a light at you. You'll see that, right?"

"...Yeah, I guess. What kind of commercial are we-"

"No time to explain, buddy. Just get in there and do what you do. You jump up, you yell, you hit the boyfriend, the girlfriend's gonna get you, and then you just act it out from there. Five seconds is all it'll take, and you'll hop on out of here with a check in your pocket and a paw in the door! How's that sound?"

"I... okay. All right, yeah, that's simple enough, I guess." Vague enough, rather. Does this guy do this for a living? Cripes. I take my spot and wait, looking around. The director waves a flashlight, pointing to it with his free paw. Ah, that'll work. I set my glasses aside and wait.

Two rabbits are walking down the sidewalk at sunset. "It was sure nice to get out of the burrow for the evening, Billy. I've been so scared about the news, but I feel so safe with you."

"You don't have to worry about a thing, Betty. All of that nonsense is just a bunch of... nonsense, nothing's gonna happen. Zootopia's the safest city in-"

Flashlight. I jump up past a garbage can, screaming. "BLAAAAARGH!" Cheese and rice, did they dim the lights that much? I can't see a goddamn thing, but I see a grey blob coming closer. With as camp as this script sounds to me, my blindness shouldn't matter. I swing my arm out, knocking his paw away. Okay, uh, I really hope I don't hit this guy. Ham it up, just swing... okay, I missed. He falls back, I think, now what's the girlfriend supposed to- OH FUCK, MY EYES, OH CHEESE AND RICE IT'S IN MY NOSE

"CUT! Good job folks, we got what we need! John, Linda, go ahead and... REESE, you can stop screaming, we're done filming."

It's a good thing we're done filming, because some of the things I'm saying should probably not be recorded.

"HEY, you can get- wait, let me see that can. GODDAMNIT, who's in charge of props around here, a mole?! Someone get this kid to a sink. Goddamn amateurs!"

Through my screaming I hear someone talking to me. "Hey man, can you walk?"

"ᚦᚢᛋᚢᚾᛏ ᚼᚱᛅᚠᚾᛁᚱ ᛁᛏᛅ ᚼᚠᛁᚱᚴᛁ ᛅ ᛚᛁᚠᛁ! ᚠᚱᛁᚢᛁᛅ ᛅᛋᚢᚾᛁᛅ ᛘᛁᚾᚾ ᛅᚢᚴᛅᚱ!!" I reply, writhing in pain.

"Uh... sure, man, we'll... we'll get you some of... whatever that is."

 

The train ride back downtown is quiet. I don't care why. If I had to guess, it'd be the very angry predator with burning red coals for eyes who stomped into the car and took the only empty seat. At least, it was the only empty seat when I got here; as soon as I sat, everyone else quietly stood up and moved to either end of the car. I don't mind. I have some fucking peace and quiet, finally, and two checks in my pocket - one hundred dollars for a supporting role, and one hundred more for the mixup.

Now I know why everyone else walked out. EXTRA-STRENGTH SAVAGE SPRAY, from the makers of WEASEL WARD. Because no matter the tragedy, someone's _going_ to make a buck off it, and... oh, what the hell did I expect. I already knew society was broken, corrupt, too sick to live - if not me, then someone else would have these two hundred dollars, and I need it more. Fuck that other guy.

What a fucking joke. If my ancestors were alive, they'd be rolling in their graves after seeing the absolute shame I'm made of myself, not just once, but _twice_ today! Fuck everything, fuck this city, fuck life in general, and then fuck it all again with a turd thrown in. Thank goodness my stop is coming up soon. Fuck, it's been hours and that shit's still in my nose. Fuck!

Harry probably knows something. Even if he doesn't, he'll probably make me feel better. That man's a goddamn treasure, that's what he is. Looking at the time, he should be opening up at Electric Embryo before long. I'll just walk there from the station, let him hear the news. I'm sure he'll get a laugh out of it. 'Weasel Ward,' for fuck's sake... did they read my goddamn bio, or just look at the headshots? Fucking rabbits wouldn't know their ass from their elbow.

I can't remember the last time my nose was this clear. I can't smell anything thanks to the patented blend of all-natural extracts, but I could probably fit a paw through my nasal passage. Thanks, Savage Spray. Exhausted, I shuffle ever onward, wondering if they even made a new formula or if it's the same shit in a different can. Coming out so soon after the news, it's probably the latter, and at twice the price. Those greedy, specist... Oh shit.

The Embryo is down the street a ways, right about where those police cars are. I see Ned and his hair talking to an officer, and Harry, thank goodness, who's tip-toeing out of the store with something in his paw.

I'll say it again: fuck this city.


	7. Kickoff

Oh shit, this... what happened? Oh cheese and rice, this could be bad. A hundred things run through my mind: is anyone hurt? Was everything stolen? Will the Embryo reopen?! Because holy shit, if Harry's out of a job, I'm _screwed_. We think the landlord's catching wise that I'm not just a guest. As long as he pays his rent on time, Harry's probably in the clear, but if he can't... oh fuck, I'll be on the streets. Or worse, I'll have to get a real job. I shudder at the thought; I can stand mammals fine in small doses, but dealing with them all day? I've had a lot of jobs here, none of which has lasted much longer than a week.

In spite of my current physical state, I break into a run, desperate for answers. The hangover, the exhaustion, the dull burning of the front half of my head, all of it goes ignored for the moment. The panicked monologue going through my mind is enough to distract me. More than enough, unfortunately; through all of the horrible thoughts, I don't notice the arm-waving, the worried looks, or the frantic shouts of "GLASS!" Only when it's too late do I remember that I really need to spend less time in my head.

And here I was, thinking the day couldn't get worse. Now I'm sitting on the trunk of a squad car as a police officer wraps up my goddamn feet. At least I'm not crying. I mean, I don't think I am. I've been tearing up since I took that faceful of pure liquid pain, so I really don't know. No, I'm probably crying. At least this cheetah officer's nice and she isn't making me feel worse. Most positive experience I've had with a cop. Still wouldn't recommend it.

I look around, trying to distract myself while she works. Windows shattered, door broken off its hinges, records and CDs thrown off of shelves. Ned and Harry are talking to a boar in a shirt and tie, probably the insurance guy. A few police inside, picking up smashed and broken merchandise, probably looking for prints and shit... one wolf walks outside, saying something into his radio. I recognize him. He's one of the fuckers who took my goddamn van! He notices my glare, and he looks embarrassed. Not fucking embarrassed enough!

I point accusingly and shout, "HARRY! Harry, you keep your eyes on that fucker right there, that guy's fucking CROOKED!" The officer helping me grips me around the waist, forcing me to sit still.

"HEY. You want to walk away from this, or you want to go for a ride?" Goddamnit. She's right, I'd rather leave on my own than in her car, and the less time I spend here, the better.

"Sorry. You're fine, it's just... that guy there's fucking crooked."

"Look, kid, I don't know, and I don't _want_ to know. Shut up and sit still." She finishes up after a minute or two. "Okay. Pay a little attention to what's going on, all right? And ease up on the accusations. It's hard enough in this city right now, for all of us."

 

I sigh, hopping down onto the sidewalk. Oh, _fuck me_ that stings. "Ah, sh- thanks." I shuffle over to Harry as Ned takes over with the boar. "Dude, what the hell happened?"

"Oh, man, it's fucking nuts. Ned and I got here, everything was trashed... cameras got it all, though. Bunch of assholes broke in and started wrecking things, smashing records, it's fucking terrible."

"What the fuck, _why?_ Wait... oh fuck, don't fucking tell me."

He nods, sighing in frustration. "Yeah. Yeah, you fucking guessed it. A whole herd of 'em, or a gang, or whatever. Multiple species, but all of 'em had hooves. Went straight for the pred metal first, then the regular metal, then they just went all over."

"Cheese and fucking rice! What the hell?! Is it like- oh, for fuck's sake. Do _mammals_ still believe that shit?"

"Dude, I work in a record store. I see it all the time, some mammals _absolutely_ believe that shit. Hard rock, rap, energy drinks, Villages  & Violence, all of it is the devil tryin' to corrupt the youth and I guess now they think it's causing all the shit goin' down right now."

"Fucking hell, I should have never left the damn islands. I hate everything today. Can the world just burn down and start over or something?"

Ned lets Harry know he can head home, as if it weren't obvious. As we walk away, wincing with each step in my case, Harry asks. "So dude, where've you been? Audie and I were freaking out when we couldn't find you, I was worried you'd gotten stuck in something."

"You worried I got _what?_ Dude, what the hell does that even mean? Do I even want to know?"

"Ahh, nevermind that, I was just tired. Where did you go, anyway?"

"I got a call at fucking four in the afternoon, some rabbits needed a commercial done and I must have been the last mammal on their list."

"No shit?! Well how'd it go, man?"

"It was the worst fucking thing I've ever done, and they never once told me what the hell I was doing."

"Shit. That bad? What happened?"

"Can you see my fucking eyes? They dressed me up in rags, had me jump out, and then they sprayed me with fucking... I don't know, it might have been radiation or something. Fucking plutonium in a can. I don't know what the fuck it was, but they didn't use the fucking prop can."

Harry stops. "Oh fuck, was it that Savage Spray shit? They've been putting ads up fucking everywhere. Like, it's on every page of the newspaper and every website."

" _Never_ say that name to me. I would have stabbed myself in the head to make it stop, it hurt so fucking bad. A hundred dollars for my time. And probably so I wouldn't sue, they gave me another hundred for their mistake."

Harry shrugs. "...Well, I mean, at least you got extra. Lawyers are expensive, and they can probably afford a better one than you could."

"I know that. Can we talk about something else? Anything else?"

 

As if by divine providence, something else comes up in the form of two arctic wolves who run straight to Harry and begin clobbering him with questions. "OH MY GOD, WHAT HAPPENED?" "WE HEARD THE STORE GOT TRASHED" "DID THEY TAKE ANYTHING?" "WHO DID THIS?" "IS IT GONNA REOPEN?" "IS THE METAL OKAY?"

"HOLY SHIT! One at a time, you're gonna give me a heart attack!" Harry waves his paws, trying to quiet them. "Okay, yes, the store got wrecked, but the police and insurance are handling it. Everything's on tape, and Ned says he's not goin' anywhere. You ladies can sleep soundly, knowing the metal will live on."

The two of them breathe a massive sigh of relief, calming down perceptibly. One keeps running her mouth, regardless. "Oh man, we were so freaked out. Ned's the only one in town who said he'd put our demo on the shelves, when do you think it'll reopen?"

"The insurance guy was pretty positive it won't take long, it's a pretty cut-and-dry case. We should be open before you get done with the album, I promise- hey, when you think you'll be done with that, anyway? I'm really looking forward to it."

The other one huffs, throwing her paws in the air. "Who knows? Asa keeps changing her mind, and we're getting sick of it."

The first one rolls her eyes. "Yeah. It's really getting old now, we just want to play and get it out there, you know?"

Harry nods. "Man, that's a bummer. Oh hey, Reese, you should meet these two. Reese, this is Vivi and Therese; Vivi and Therese, this is Reese." Oh okay, more names for me to not remember. Great.

One of them - Therese, I think - looks down at me with her arms crossed. "Wow, dude, you look like shit."

I shrug. "Yeah, I know. How's your fucking day been?'

Harry raises his paws, presumably to keep tensions low. "Woah, hey. Don't mind him, he's had a worse day than any of us. I just figured you guys should all meet, since you're kinda into the same things, is all."

I look to Harry, hoping with all my heart that we may end this conversation and just leave. I'm in no such luck, unfortunately.

Vivi pipes up, "What kinda the same things? What, just music?"

"No, no, I mean- yeah, I've been getting him into metal pretty hard, but he's super into viking shit. Reese, you gotta hear these girls play, it'll blow your mind."

I shake my head. "No, Harry, I... Look, another time, okay? I'll be happy to meet them and listen to them some other time, just not right now. Can I just go cry in a hole? Is that so much to ask?"

Harry shrugs. "I guess not. Anyway, you two go let Asa know that the store will be open again, everyone's fine, and you might not need to rent a van to get to gigs anymore."

 

They nod and thank him before setting off, and it takes Harry longer than I'd expected to notice me staring a hole into his head. "...Dude, shit, you're creeping me out with that look! Holy fuck, it's like the devil's watching me, we gotta get you some eyedrops."

"Man, did you really just volunteer me for some shit?"

"Huh? No, I said they _might_ not need to rent a van, it's totally up to you. I wasn't just gonna say 'hey ladies, I got you a van guy!' and pass you off like that. You can talk with them when you're feeling better."

"And how am I gonna help them? Am I gonna carry the shit? Are they gonna chip in for me to get my van back?"

"Dude, don't worry about that. If it's cool with them, sure, they might do that. Shit, they'd be saving money in the long run! I'm just thinkin' of how to help everybody out, you know?"

I shake my head. "Dude, you're the best mammal I've met in this city _by far_ , but you gotta let me know these things, man. I don't _have_ a van right now, how do you think they're really going to react when you tell them it comes at a price?"

"Hey, don't worry about it. Shit's gonna be fine. You'll see."

"Shit won't be _fine_ , man. That's why it's called shit."

Harry shakes his head. "I'm takin' you to Norm's. He'll get you smilin'."

Just as well. Norm's is closer to the shop, and walking isn't my favorite thing to do at the moment. This day's just been one shiny shit cherry atop the fuck sundae that my life has become over the past few weeks, and I don't know how much more I can take; I actually catch myself idly wondering whether someone will kill me or I'll kill them. It could go either way right now. No more pain versus three hots and a cot for the rest of my life? Oh fuck me, I can't believe this shit's running through my mind right now. I'll just call this is a low point, that way I can lie and tell myself that things will get better.

But things will not get better. Not in the next few minutes, anyway. As we approach Norm's building there's a familiar gargoyle haunting a nearby stoop, and strangely, a part of me is just _hoping_  for a reason. It's purely out of malice. I know that much. When folks said misery loves company, I always figured that meant to seek out friends when you feel bad. You know, see if they can cheer you up. But it's not that. I realize that now. When you pass a certain point all that you want to do is to spread your bad mood like a plague. The spirit of spite makes a home in your body and you say, 'I will _not_ be the only one who's unhappy.'

My prayers are answered. The ogress takes a drag from her cigarette - _god_ , I could use a smoke - and turns her gaze on us. "The fuck happened to you, get mugged by a wad of mice?"

Harry puts a paw on my shoulder, and for the briefest moment, I almost feel regret. Does she taunt passers-by out of malice, or is she as miserable in her life as I feel right now? Is there something I can do, as another mammal thrust into an unforgiving world, to help her? Perhaps. But it doesn't matter. I only know two things right now: I've already made up my mind, and this bitch isn't fucking bringing her A-game tonight.  I stop and face her calmly. "Sorry, were you saying something or was that just the emphysema? No? That's okay, I've got more. When you talk on the phone, does it sound like static on the other end? How about this one. Maybe she's born with it, maybe it's Marlboro. I bet you like your men like you like your cigarettes: in your mouth and often. How's that? You fucking want some more?!"

With that out of my system, I take a deep breath and turn back to Harry. "I needed that." I sure didn't need to be punted, though. At least I didn't have to walk all the way to Norm's building.

Harry heaves me onto his shoulder, shaking his head. "Dude, why?"

"Because I don't fucking care anymore. FUCKING COWARD hit me from behind," I add, loud enough for her to hear.

"God _damn_ you're stupid."  
  
"Fuckin'... yeah. I know that."


	8. Amateur Hour

Harry's stronger than he looks. He's carried me up the stairs on his shoulder without breaking a sweat, and he's hardly a size category larger than me... maybe that's not all fat under his fur. Wouldn't be the first time I was wrong. He knocks on Norm's door, brings me inside, and sets me on the couch to contemplate life. To be fair, he'd probably prefer that I think happy thoughts, but fuck that. I'm going to think about the bad shit until it either makes sense or I stop caring.

While Harry grabs some drinks, Norm takes a seat beside me. "You doin' okay, man? Look like you been through some shit."

"No, but thanks for asking."

Harry calls over from the kitchenette. "He blew up on the big wolf a couple buildings down."

"OH SHI- wait, the white one or the black one?"

"The black one, obviously! He's not _dead_. She just booted him about thirty feet."

"GodDAMN! You gotta not mess with wolves, man, they'll chew you up. You too little for that."

My expression increases in severity from 'frown' to 'outright scowl.' "What, so just because I'm smaller than them I'm supposed to let them talk shit? That bitch wants to dish it out, she can fucking learn to take it."

Norm laughs. "Nah, man. Look, I know the girl, she's all right. She just got a weird way of bein' friendly."

"Really? Is that what you call that? Because I've had shit like that said to me my whole life and it wasn't friendly."

Harry sighs, finally returning with a few small glasses and a bottle of whiskey. "Relax, man. Your shitty day's over, you can put it behind you now."

I stare at the glass in front of me as Norm pops the bottle and begins to pour for us. I don't have the heart right now to tell them I can't stand whiskey. Maybe I just don't care right now. I'd drink kerosene if I thought it'd dull pain.

(Having been unlucky enough in my life to have caught a mouth full of kerosene, I know very well that it doesn't dull pain. It burns like acid, then it makes you sick for a week.)

Norm downs his drink. These are shot glasses for him, but sipping glasses for Harry and me. He;s quick to refill his glass. "What happened to your feet, man? Just how bad a day you been havin'?"

Harry shakes his head. "He came by the store and didn't see the glass on the sidewalk."

"Shit, that sucks. I still can't believe that happened down there, man, when you gonna reopen? I heard the Bilberries are coming out with a reissue, you know I need my Bilberries."

"I don't know. Ned's pretty optimistic, he says as soon as we can get new windows and a couple shipments in. The shelves are pretty bare right now."

"Damn. Man, I can't believe that shit. And they call _us_ the savages?"

"You fuckin' said it!"

 

No matter how bad you're feeling, there's something to be said about good company. Between the drinks, the cartoons on the tv, and Norm and Harry's natural humor, I'm starting to feel better. I'm even laughing about the commercial.

"MAMMAL ARE YOU SERIOUS? They GOT you with that shit??"

I nod, setting my drink back on the coffee table. "Yeah. The director was pretty pissed, he was like, 'who's in charge of props, a fucking mole?' I mean, sometimes you gotta laugh at that specist shit." I take a draught from my pipe and let it out slowly. Why do I love the things that will kill me?

"Oh man. You should have seen him when the cops were there. This cheetah, she's wrapping up his feet, and he's trying so hard not to cry. I could see it."

I take a deep breath and fix my stare on Harry.

"Dude, what? Come on. Then he points at this wolf, and he forgets about his feet, telling me to keep an eye on the guy. 'CROOKED COP,' he was screaming. That cheetah manhandled him and shut him up fast."

"Man, what is it that you got against wolves? Two in a _day?_ "

I pull the pipe from my mouth and throw my paws in the air. "He was there when those fuckers stole my van! Held me back, made me sign for shit... when I say he's _crooked_ , I fucking _know_ it!"

Despite the serious nature of my statement, they only laugh harder.

"Yeah, man, I believe you though. I've had cops stop me on the street just because. I'm just walkin' too close to Flock street, is why. They don't like that shit."

"Fuck them," I declare, raising my drink. "Fuck them all with a big rubber dick."

Norm begins laughing uncontrollably, which spreads to Harry and eventually to me. I laugh heartily for a moment before I fall into a coughing fit.

Harry sits back on the couch, swirling his drink. "So what do you guys wanna do? You wanna stay in all night, or you wanna hit some of the diurnal clubs? Their night's pretty much just started."

Norm thinks, nodding. "Yeah, maybe the clubs would be cool. The predator clubs are too dead, everyone's too worried to get down."

I look to Norm, having lost my quasi-cheerful demeanor. "You think it's just predators who're worried? We try to go to a prey club, they're gonna call the fucking cops on us. I don't want to add 'beaten and thrown in a cell' to my list today."

Norm shakes his head. "Man, you just too pessimistic. Ain't you watch TV? There's protests all over the city against that shit, even prey comin' out to defend us. Gazelle herself has the biggest one goin'."

"The fuck do I care about Gazelle? Her fuckin' manufactured pop makes me sick, I'd sooner listen to the fucking mayor, and she's probably as corrupt as that fucker Lionheart."

Harry shrugs. "Hey man, it was just a suggestion. If you wanna stay in and watch shit, we can do that." He puts a paw on my shoulder. "All you gotta worry about is relaxing."

Norm's eyes light up. "Oh, I know what you need! Harry, we gotta take him to get a massage!"

In my mind, I see a stereotypical massage parlor: lanterns, bamboo, and soft music. A lovely panda leads me into a room where I lie face-down on a table, and as she presses on my back, the last thing I hear in my life is a crack.

Harry shakes his head. "No good, man, they've closed up until this is all over. Some kinda superstition, I think."

"You know there's other places, right?"

"Yeah, but they're no good. I've tried 'em, and they're just gross. What about a hot tub, you know any places nearby with one?"

"There's a spa on Flock Street, man, but it's on _Flock Street_. They already closed for the night. Besides, any place that's open now is fuckin' pricey."

"Well, then we can just stay here and watch 'toons unless someone thinks of something. No big deal, right?"

 

We settle in and watch TV. Given the time of night, we can watch prey dramas or predator cartoons. The obvious choice for a few asshole comedians is cartoons. A commercial begins, and the camera pans across a sinister cityscape as two rabbits come into... oh no...

_"It was sure nice to get out of the burrow for the evening, Billy. I've been so scared about the news, but I feel so safe with you."_

"No. NO. NO, FUCK NO!"

Harry and Norm almost jump, looking between each other, and back to the TV.

_"You don't have to worry about a thing, Betty. All of that nonsense is just a bunch of... nonsense, nothing's gonna happen. Zootopia's the safest city in-"_

_"BLAAAAARGH!"_

The two of them lose their minds with laughter as I bury my face in my paws.

"Holy shit. I'm sorry, man, but that's the funniest thing I've ever... dude?"

I throw my glass at the TV, hitting the wall beside it. "WHAT THE FUCK, ALREADY? REALLY?! IT'S BAD ENOUGH THAT THEY FUCKING _TRICKED_ ME INTO THIS SHIT, BUT FUCKING..."

Norm plucks me off the couch and holds me close, as if I were a fucking cub. "Hey, COOL DOWN, man! You gonna let some dumb commercial get to you?"

I don't understand how or why, but I feel so unimaginably angry right now. Wasn't I laughing about this barely half an hour ago? What's wrong with me? It's not that kits and cubs are watching TV right now, I couldn't give a _fuck_ about other mammals' kids. Maybe it's because I was almost feeling good, and right here is a reminder of everything wrong in my life... not only that, but it's being broadcast who knows how many times an hour on probably every channel. Every mammal in this city is going to see me. Every predator and some of the more progressive-minded prey in Zootopia are going to see this, and only now do I realize that I'm not just angry about the spray. I've betrayed myself and my kind, that's why they couldn't find anyone else for their commercial, and _that's_ why they didn't tell me anything about it!

"I fucking... OH FUCK, THIS IS WHAT ENDS ME. Think about it!" I struggle, trying to break free from Norm's bearhug, but nothing doing. "Look at it! I may as well be wearing fangface and singing about my mammy, who the fuck is going to hire me, who's going to listen to a goddamn thing I have to say?!"

Harry sweeps up my glass and returns to the couch to help Norm. "DUDE, it's NOT THAT BAD. Why are you beating yourself up like that, who's going to care? You needed the money, just think of it like... ugh, shit, that's not a good comparison."

I finally wriggle free of Norm's grasp, most likely because he let me, and reach for my pipe. Nothing... fucking thing's gone out. I strike another match and start puffing like an old steamship, not caring about the lightheadedness. "It's... FUCK, I don't even know how to explain it to myself, how am I going to make you understand? What I can do is describe to you, in excruciating detail, the constant and maddening decline of my life over the past year. It's this fucking city, ALL of it, cheese and rice..." I pull my glasses off and rub the bridge of my nose, my teeth clenched firmly on my pipe.

Norm and Harry exchange a silent look. Each nods, so sure of the other's intentions that not a word needs to be spoken. Before I can put my glasses back on, I feel myself grabbed firmly by a large paw and carried out of the apartment.

 

Securely tucked under Norm's arm, there's little for me to do besides smoke and gripe, and that's exactly what I do. Introspection, even, is not off the table. "It's not all the city, I'm sure. I haven't had a real workout in ages, that's something I need to change. The food... dear gods, the food in this city. I know I can only afford the cheapest garbage, but how is _anyone_ healthy here? All of it is corn and grain, how can that be good for a predator? And bugs, what the fuck is with all the bugs! You'd think there'd be more poultry available, to say nothing of fish. We're right on the sea! It's _right there!_ How is fish so fucking expensive here? I could just go there and get a fish myself, for _free!_  This place is fucking madness. How does anyone live here! It's-"

Norm takes two fingers and holds my mouth shut, clearly tired of my tirade. "Mammal. We get it. Why don't you just try to relax? Life ain't so bad if you don't let it be, we gonna show you."

Harry strikes a pose, arms out, presenting to us the brightest, most garish building I've ever seen. Half the neon lights in this city must be mounted here, and it's _blinding_. I push Norm's hand off my face and begin to gripe straight away. "What the fuck is this, a sign factory?"

"No, man, it's the best place to get fucking trashed this time of night. You'd like that, right?"

I let my arms hang and sigh, grudgingly. "Yeah..." As soon as we're inside, I understand why it's the best place to get drunk. "Cheese and rice, karaoke? You better bring me a bottle right now if I have to listen to this shit."

Norm sets me on a chair and pats my head. "Chill out, little brother! We're gonna take care of you." He disappears through the crowd of mostly herbivores, hopefully on his way to the bar.

Harry takes a seat beside me. "All right. See? This doesn't suck that bad."

I turn to glare at him, covering my ears. A drunken antelope is on the stage, screeching out a rendition of some generic pop monstrosity. It hurts.

"Man, don't be such a snob."

"Harry, I took voice and singing lessons for years, I have a goddamn  _right_ to be a snob."

"Well, fine, but I bet after you get a few drinks in you, you're gonna be on that stage singing your little heart out."

"Oh yeah? You'd better hope not, because they're gonna burn this place to the _ground_ when they hear these pipes."

"That bad?"

"NO, I mean... fuck, just get me something to drink!"

Norm returns with a cornucopia of drinks, and before long I've got enough in me to tune out the singing, the day's events, and even the recent news. Now, I'm fully aware drinking isn't a solution, but goddamn if it doesn't work sometimes. Conversation meanders from one topic to another, to another, and so on. Somehow it gets a little private for my tastes, but I quite unfortunately don't have the ability to object to that.

Norm stares at me. "Man are you serious?! No wonder you so messed up! How the hell does that happen?"

I throw my paws in the air. "I live in a VAN. You seriously think any woman is going to come within twenty feet and still want to fuck me?"

Harry laughs. "Dude, you have no idea. There's open-minded girls who'd love that sort of independent shit."

Norm leans on the table, and I'm frightened it might break. "Man, you could solve a lot of your problems if you could just relax, and the quickest way you'll find to relax is to get laid. Why don't you go talk to some girls here?"

"Why the hell would I do that? For one, I'm drunk as shit. Then if anyone even talks to me, what am I gonna do? Cry about my problems? Now that's fucking sexy."

Harry claps a paw onto my shoulder. "Buddy, you don't gotta do anything. All you gotta do is go up on that stage, and you're gonna be _smothered_ under a wave of tush."

"Uh, dude, have you looked around? Most of the mammals in this club are bigger than Norm, and they're all PREY."

"Dude, haven't you looked up at the second level? It's swarming with bunnies, and they don't give a _fuck_ what you are, they're just here for a good time. That's what this place is for! I'll tell you what, you have another drink or two, then I'm putting your name on the list. It doesn't matter what you sing up there. Something funny, something epic - shit, sing something fuckin' sad! They'll pity-fuck the shit out of a guy like you if you can sing like you say you can! What have you got to lose?"

 

What have I got to lose, indeed? This place doesn't have a great selection of music to choose from, but at lesat the machine was easy enough to figure out. It's funny that out of all my performances in the past few weeks, I put the most effort into singing karaoke with the assurance that I'd get laid for it. Harry's insane. He may be correct, but he's definitely insane.

"Holy shit, no more... if you pour me another shot, you're going to have to carry me out of here."

The three rabbits giggle and laugh, but allow me the courtesy of not passing out. The brown one - Michelle, I think - pours herself another. "So do you go to school here, or something?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm done with that. Fat lot of good it's done me, too! I hope you're all studying things that you can get paid for." I think Michelle said she's studying architecture. Something like that. Archaeology? Damn, it's loud in here.

"What did you study?" asks the grey one. Gale? I'm not sure. Out of the three, she's probably closest to me in drunkenness, and it's pretty obvious from the way she's pawing at me. I'm sure Norm and Harry are laughing their asses off if they can see us.

"Uh... writing and drama. Don't let- yeah, if you ever have kits and they want to go to art school, hit them." They all laugh.

"Oh my god! Oh my god!" the third one, whose name I can't remember to save my life, pulls out her phone. "Oh cheese and crackers! I know where I've seen you!"

Her friends look between the two of us, confused. "Wait, what's up?"

"I've seen him before, it was hilarious! You're not gonna believe it when I show you!"

Michelle looks at me, puzzled. "What do you do for a living?"

"Nothing interesting. I'm usually at bars, opening for shitty magicians and rejected clowns, but I recently got a semi-regular stand-up gig."

Whitey - which is what I'm calling her in my head - waves a paw. "No, no, that's not it... god, will MooTube load already?! What's wrong with the wifi here?" WHITNEY, that was it. How did I forget that? It's so simple.

Gale keeps grabbing at me, and with a small amount of shame I realize I've started grabbing back. And to think that earlier tonight I would have been just as happy to have never spoken to another rabbit in my life...

Whitney finally gets somewhere, and shows it to Michelle, who looks between me and the phone in shock. "Oh. My. GOSH. Gale, you have to look at this!"

I'm a little disappointed as Gale pulls herself off me to see. I was enjoying that. Goodness knows I don't receive an abundance of attention, it feels good to find a bit. Suddenly, the slightest hint of worry crosses my mind. MooTube? There aren't any good videos of my standup on MooTube, and I would know: I've looked. Harry keeps saying he'll record one of my sets, but that won't happen until Giggles reopens. "You, uh... what're you watching? Something good, I hope."

Whitney turns her phone and, to my horror, they're not watching my stand-up. All over the course of three seconds I feel a searing rage, followed by deep contempt, finally sinking into disgust and depression. "Sorry, I... I think I need to go." Despite their complaints (mostly from Gale), I stand up and shuffle away to brood. Harry catches me at the exit, catching me by the arm.

"Dude, what are you doing? You were like, five minutes from the best night of your life, what the hell?"

I take a deep breath. "Harry... I wish I could tell you. I don't understand shit right now, I just... I don't think I can do this."

He looks over his shoulder. "Damn. All right, let's just go home and you can sleep it off, yeah? We'll get something to eat on the way, I'm buying."

"Yeah, all right."


	9. Ready for Takeoff

I watch curiously as my grandfather cranks, slowly drawing the string of the crossbow back. "Okay _Rauði_. Ven I hit the sturgeon, you have to hold very hard onto the tiller," he says, holding his paws up and grabbing for emphasis. "The fish is going to svim, _very_ hard, and he vill pull our little boat all around. But don't feel scared. The fish can't pull us under, no matter how big it is." He loads a harpoon into the crossbow and double-checks the line. "Now. Do you remember vat to do?"

I nod, gripping the tiller as hard as my little paws can manage. "I steer left and right, until the fish gets tired."

He smiles and pats my head, then stands at the bow. "You're a good boy, and all the kits vill be jealous your grampa took you to catch _stør_. Rub it in their faces at school!"

I chuckle nervously, not fully understanding what is coming. Before long a sturgeon jumps, and with a practiced shot, my grandfather puts a harpoon right through the scutes on its back. He drops, grabbing onto the gunwale, and the two of us watch as the line flies out of the boat. "Don't be scared Rauði! She's a good little boat, and she'll take us home vith a prize today!" he shouts, patting the sole of our little faering. The line snaps taut and we lurch forward, faster than I'd thought possible, and I wake up to the sound of my own screaming.

 

I sit up straight on Harry's couch with my heart pounding. Holy shit... that was a crazy day. I'd never seen my gramma so mad. I was _definitely_ too young to go after sturgeon, but I did get to rub it in the other kits' faces until they beat me up in the bathroom. Oh shit, bathroom! No time for glasses, I know the way I'll just- FUCK! WHO MOVED THAT? I scramble to my feet and pinball my way to the bathroom, just in time to avoid disaster. Whew, holy shit... I really should stop drinking so much, that was close. Oh fuck, my head... I really SHOULD stop drinking so much.

I feel my way back to the couch, and start searching for my glasses. On the table next to my phone? Huh, Drunk Reese was being thoughtful this morning. That's odd. I look at the window and the dim, reddening light that's leaking in past the curtains. I pull a shirt and shorts from my bag, giving each a deep sniff. Shirt's clean, pants... ah, they're pants. As long as they're not covered in anything, who cares.

To my joy, putting on pants has reminded me that my feet are fucked up. Shit, I really don't want to see what's under these bandages, but I probably need to clean them up... oh fuck, oh fuck that stings... I let out a sigh of relief once it's done. Oh, that feels nice... they really needed to breathe. I probably should have done this in the bathroom. Fuck. I guess I'll just relax for a while, I know where Harry keeps his first aid kit, anyway. He'll probably be up soon.

I lie back with my phone on my chest and check whether I've received anything. Email... nope. Calls... nothing. Texts... 'save $30 on designer jeans?' Go fuck yourself, why don't you lose my number. I wonder if I should try handing in resumes again. _Ugghhh_. I shudder at the thought. Every agency I could find already has my headshot, every business I thought I could stand for more than three days has my resume, what else is there to do? Guess I'll look at photoshopped lizards with bad grammar. That always cheers me... wait. Did I cockblock myself last night? SON OF A BITCH!

 

Harry leans forward, staring at my feet. "Well, that's gonna give me nightmares. What'd you want me to do?"

I roll my eyes. "Do you have a first aid kit or anything?"

"Uh, no, I don't think so. I've got a bunch of worn-out shirts, will those work?" he asks, heading off to his room.

"If they're clean, I guess. Got any vodka?"

Harry turns around and gives me a look.

I throw my paws up. "For my _feet!"_ I explain, kicking them a bit for emphasis. "And _maybe_ a shot to take the edge off, but that's it."

He shakes his head and resumes his course. "You're gonna get yourself killed, dude."

He returns and the two of us start tearing an old, hole-riddled band shirt into strips, chatting idly.

"So what happened with you last night, man? That bunny was all over you, I've never seen anyone back out like that. You doin' all right up there?"

I shrug, waving a paw. "Man, I don't know. I think part of it is fucking commercial. The last thing I want in the world is to be known for it. I just needed the money, everyone can just leave me out of it."

He laughs. "Dude, is that it? You act like you've never been embarrassed before. Shit, I've done _birthday parties_ , you think I let it eat me up? Nope."

"Yeah, but you're not a prima donna, are you? I have _credentials_ , Harry. I _studied_ this shit. I spent years honing my craft, following my dream, and I don't care who you are, that shit goes to your head after a while."

Harry shrugs. "So poke a hole in your big, fat head and drain it, man. Life's better when you tell your ego to fuck itself."

I sigh. "I would let you drill a hole in my head _right now_ if I thought it'd work."

"Gross."

With enough makeshift bandages made, I stick my feet off the couch for access. "Okay, you've done shit like this before, right?"

"Uh, no. I grew up in modern times where people don't let their kits play with knives."

"What the hell did you do for fun?"

"We played games and watched cartoons. Once in a while you'd skin a knee, but that was pretty easy to deal with."

"Ugh. Okay, uh, take one of the leftover parts and wad it up, then pour some vodka on it. Yeah, that works. Now give me another rag, and when I say so, dab my feet with that one. Okay?"

Harry shakes his head. "Hey, if this leads to me chopping your leg off and sewing on a peg, just let me know now before I'm in too deep."

I roll my eyes and stuff the rag in my mouth, laying my paws flat on the cushions beside me. I take a deep breath, nodding to Harry.

 

Now that my feet are freshly wrapped, I take a drink from the bottle and cap it. "You know if anything's going on tonight?"

"Not really. I was gonna call Gary, see if the club's open again, but I've got all night to do that. You been looking for work or anything?"

"Hell no, I've been getting fucked in the ass all week. I mean, I got paid for some of it, so I guess that counts, but a nightly job hasn't been in the front of my mind these past few days."

"Hey, you know, you could be looking for gigs, too. Nothin' wrong with hitting up other clubs, Gary won't fire you or anything."

I stare at the ceiling for a moment. I really should be doing _something_. "Shit, I don't know... does anyone still like street magic? I can do a couple dumb tricks, I can do some song-and-dance, as long as it's not behind a counter I can probably live with myself."

Harry scratches his stomach, thinking. "Yeah, that's right, you _can_ sing."

I turn my head as little as necessary to look at him. "What're you thinking?"

He shrugs. "Man, I've got so many ideas in here, it takes me a minute to remember. Gimme a moment."

"You should probably write them down, dude, or the nip's gonna make you forget your goddamn name."

"I tried writing things down, but it doesn't work when I'm stoned. All I end up with is a napkin that says dumb shit like 'pigeon muffin.'"

"Fucking pigeon muffin. I'm gonna go to my grave wondering what the fuck that was about."

"I know, right?."

Agitated, I rub my paws over my face. "Fuck, is this going to be one of those nights?"

"One of what nights?"

"Ah, you know, those nights where you know there's stuff you ought to be doing, but there's so much of it that you just... like, take a nap? Makes me feel like such a piece of shit."

Harry stares at the far wall for a moment. "So, leave the stash alone, I guess?"

I sigh. Smoking would be fun, but it'd only postpone the feeling. "Yeah, just... who do you know that's doing anything? Literally anything."

"Okay, uh, lemme check some stuff." He pulls out his phone and starts looking through his texts, almost jumping out of his skin when it goes off in his paws. "Holy shit! What the..."

"I think you got a message."

"Wiseass." He collects himself and reads, almost smashing it into his face. "Holy shit. Oh fuck, man, I can't believe this."

I look around the ceiling, following a speck of dust. "Can't believe what?"

"Dude, you know the sex shop down Pack Street?"

"Uh... no comment."

Harry looks at me slowly, trying to hide a smirk. "Yeah, that's not suspicious. Place got wrecked early this morning, Audra's freaking out about it."

"Cheese and rice! Like the Embro? Why haven't they caught those fucks yet?" I exclaim, raising my paws in disbelief.

"No, dude... the owner went savage."

As soon as the words leave his lips, I can't hear anything. I almost think I've gone deaf just from the sound. I feel like it's poked a hole in my mind, through which every dark, terrifying thought I've been trying to push deep down inside me has found its escape. Shit... that's spitting-distance from here. Wait a minute, wasn't...

"Wait... was she a tiger?"

"Yeah, and a damn good businesswoman."

"FUCK. GODDAMNIT, SHIT."

Harry pulls back slightly, blinking. "Woah, there. Somethin' up?"

I clap a paw over my face and groan. "Yeah... yeah, I was writing something for her."

"Wait, seriously? Like what?"

I exhale a deep breath and slouch further. "Fucking embarrassing shit. I met her at a coffee shop, she's trying to put together a magazine and she saw me writing, made an offer."

"Oh. What kinda shit?"

"It's... the kind of stuff you'd get in a magazine from a porn store. Fantasy kinda shit, and she gave me a thirty dollar advance, so now I feel like real shit."

Harry leans closer, staring creepily. "Yeah? What _kinda_ fantasy?"

I meet his gaze and after a moment I have to stifle a laugh. "Dude, really, I'm not saying anything else about it. I wasn't brought up talking openly about that kind of thing."

Harry groans antagonistically. "Aaaahhhh, you're no fun. At least you're not freaking out like I thought you would."

I sigh. "No, I'm just a little distracted at this moment. It's coming, see?" I hold up a paw, which trembles slightly. "You can probably get that stash out now. I'm gonna stay here with the vodka while you go do that."

 

An hour in I feel better, but I'm still anxious. I need a distraction, something - anything - to get my mind off the dark thoughts. A tap on the window startles us, and Harry waddles over to check.

"Guys! Open up!"

Harry pushes the curtain aside and opens the window, revealing Chet smiling widely and pointing comically at a video camera.

"You guys! Check this shit out!"

Harry blinks. "Wow. You know your phone does that too, right?"

Chet scoffs. "Yeah, dick. But this does it _better_. Man, I'm finally gonna start that MooTube channel, wanna help me figure this thing out?"

Harry looks over his shoulder at me. "Uh, we're a little bit baked, but fuck yeah. You game, Reese?"

I peel myself off the couch and stare at Chet, blinking out-of-sync as my eyes focus. "Fuck. Yes."

We walk alongside him on our way to... somewhere, while he describes all the features of his newest purchase. Even if I weren't drunk and high, I wouldn't understand a goddamn thing he was saying. One of the fun parts of growing up in the middle of nowhere, I guess.

"Okay, what do you guys wanna do? I need to learn how to work this thing."

Harry burps. "Iunno. There's a park over on Flock Street, it's pretty close. Wanna see how high we can launch Reese off the see-saw?"

Chet stares wide-eyed at Harry. "You're a genius. Reese, you wanna go fly?"

"Fuck flying. I wanna eat." I don't think I really grasp what they're suggesting. There's a Bug Burga across the street, that's where my attention is focused.

"We'll get you something to eat after you get back from the moon. Come on, man."

Once we're at the park Chet starts recording, and he gets some good footage of Harry and me skipping paw-in-paw through a flowerbed. Classic comedy. Harry takes the camera from him as we approach the playground, rattling off some terms I'm not familiar with, but which I might have just forgotten.

"Okay, yeah. You're the biggest one of us, so he'll get a better... oh, man, let's do some science shit. A higher trajectory, yeah. We're gonna crack some legends like the guys on TV."

Chet leads me to the see-saw, which is... bigger than I remember see-saws being. I feel like a kit here.

"I'm, uh... do you want me to just sit?"

"Yeah, man, your legs won't handle the..." Harry trails off, trying to stifle a giggle. "Your legs are real little, probably can't handle the sudden force. Chet, after you -snrk- after you initiate liftoff, you're gonna wanna try to catch him, because he's totally gonna die if you don't."

I look at Harry from my seat. "I'm gonna what?"

I don't get an answer, though, before Chet jumps high into the air and lands squarely on the opposite end, sending me high into the air on a crash-course with basic physics.

"Dude! Awesome! Now catch him, this'll be the best thing on the internet!"

I feel like I've been up here for quite a while. I've never seen the tops of trees before, that's pretty wild... I've spent my entire life really close to the ground. I never even thought about how other mammals might see the world, or how birds might, but who cares about what birds think? I've spent so much time and effort on trying to understand my life. In this moment, my mind feels so open; every other mammal thinks and feels. They all have their own lives. Do they all have the same thoughts, the same worries, the same troubles as I do? I've been so selfish. I've never considered what anyone else might feel. I need to stop being so selfish, I'm so terrible... wait, am I afraid of heights? I can't remember. I don't think so. I probably shouldn't look down. Shit, I just did. Chet's so small, haha! I don't think I'm afraid of heights. Woah, this feels weird... ugh, my stomach just did a flip, I think I might puke. Was that the top? Am I falling now? Shit. I might not be afraid of heights, but I think I'm pretty afraid of hitting the ground. Oh shit oh shit OH SHIT.

Harry and Chet finally peel me off of Chet's arm. He hisses, rubbing it, and swears.

"Shit, man, when was the last time you dulled your claws?"

I manage to stop hyperventilating to answer. "Uh... I don't remember. I don't think I ever did, maybe? I mean, they're useful. Like, really useful. I used to climb on rocks and things back home."

Harry is back behind the camera, acting like he's a filmmaker or something. "Yeah? What else did you do back home?" He gets right up in my face with it while I'm not looking. It's pretty startling when you're inebriated like I am.

"FUCK. Uh, no, I didn't do that... I did other things, like reading and fishing. Other folks fucked, I wasn't one of them."

Chet gets the camera back from Harry. "So guys, you wanna go in with me on this MooTube channel? I figure if someone can make money off a dumb tangerine, a few comics can at least afford to buy a burger off it."

Harry nods enthusiastically, as if he were trying to shake a spray can with his mouth. I think for a moment, but eventually shrug.

"Shit, wouldn't be the dumbest thing I ever did. I'm game."


	10. Shut Up

No trees can grow here due to the wind. They'd be blown right over as saplings. Grass covers the ground, mostly, and lichen where the grass can't find purchase. It's hazardous to be here. I may count as large in my village, but that's not saying much in the grand scheme of things. If I weren't sitting in this hole, a gust could easily knock me on my ass. Fortunately the wind isn't blowing from the east. I'd never have come here if it was. On the west side of this island there's nothing but sea and birds, to say nothing of the hundred-foot cliffs.

It's breeding season for seabirds, puffins especially. Fish is our bread and butter here, but it's the puffins we named our islands after, in large part due to their vast numbers. Every year the cliffs all across _Lundøye_ are swarming with shrieking, squawking, and most of all _delicious_ birds with bright beaks and no brains. I watch the sky patiently. My paws, wrapped tightly around the pole of my net, are sweating with anticipation. A lone bird comes in low, and I heave my net overhead, swinging a wide arc across its path. The damn things are slippery, even for more experienced hunters, and I've been here all day without as much as a feather to show for it. I pop my head out of my hole and listen, hearing the telltale squabble of a netted bird.

I leap up, running excitedly to see my catch. Beautiful! A fine, fat puffin, flapping and squawking in my net. Gramma can have the evening off, Reese is cooking tonight! As I get close, though, I feel something's off about this catch. It sounds... wrong. Sick, even. My heart drops. I can't bring home an ill bird, unless I want to risk everyone's health. Hey, wait a minute, that's not even a bird noise it's making, that sounds like my fucking... GODDAMNIT, WHY DO ALL MY DREAMS END THIS WAY?

I roll over, falling off the couch with a yelp and grab my phone off the coffee table, squinting at the screen. Some random number, I think, but I can't be sure without my glasses. Better not be that fucking casting company, I'm ripping them a new one if they've woken me up again... I take a deep breath and answer. "Hello?"

I'm treated to heavy breathing and quiet grumbling before a voice like a dump truck at work replies. "You Reez?"

Oh cheese and rice, that makes _my_ throat hurt. "Uh, yeah, I'm- I'm Reese."

More heavy breathing. "You know fyish?"

I blink. Fish? Who the hell would be calling me about... shit, I think I did hand in some applications around town several months ago. "Yeah. Yeah, I know fish. Who is this?"

No pause for heavy breathing this time. "Don't madder who I is! I do fyish, you know fyish. I need fyish worker, you need job. Can keep mouth close?"

"Wh-what? I don't... I don't know what you're talking about."

A booming laugh follows. "Ha! _Mnie nravitsya eto,_ you catch on quick! I give address, job start today. Be here one hour or I find you."

Before I can ask another question, much less put up a protest, the call ends. I sigh, wondering what kind of _Night Realm_ episode I've awoken into today. I reach for my glasses as my phone announces a new mesage, and Harry shuffles through the living room on his way to find a snack.

"Oh. Hey, dude. You're up early. What's up?"

I hold my phone up. "Uh, I think I just got a job."

"Kickass. What's it about?"

"Uh, fish. That's literally all I know."

"Oh that's cool, you know fish."

I pull off my glasses and rub my brow. "Fuck me... it's too early to face responsibilities, couldn't this guy have fucking waited? Now I've got an hour to get to..." I put my glasses back on, reading the address. "Wherever the fuck that is, or he says he'll 'find' me."

Harry takes a peek at the address and nods. "Tundratown? Shit. Yeah, you might wanna get over there, pronto."

I smack a paw against my forehead and resign myself to getting dressed. Reaching deep into my bag, I pull out a sweater I haven't needed since I came to this city and give it a whiff. Smells like a gym bag. Great. I can tell this night's going to be awesome already.

 

Thank goodness for public transit. It stinks, you may get stuck to the seat, and you'll probably see something that will shake you to your core, but at least it's here. I'd never have made it to Tundratown otherwise. I miss my van... maybe I can hold this job for a few weeks. I _really don't want to_ though, I've gotten too used to being a useless piece of shit to spring out of bed and go to a job every day, but I _need_ my fucking van back.

I finally reach the address. A plain, dingy storefront with one door and one small window stands before me. The only indication as to what's inside is a small plaque containing the address and the words "Fedor's Fresh Fish." I know for a fact I have never been here, much less filled out an application, but what am I supposed to do? I need the money!

I strain against the door and make my way inside, where I'm greeted by a dimly-lit, hospital-green interior. Some tables and chairs run along the front wall, with one table occupied by a few polar bears in track suits. Along the back wall stretches an old, glass-fronted counter where a mediocre amount of different fish lie on display. An overweight wolverine waddles out from behind the counter and stares at me, wiping his hands on his apron.

He takes the cigar from his mouth and asks, "You Reez?"

I sigh. This might as well be happening, why not? "Yeah. Yeah, I'm Reese, are you... Fedor?"

The bears all turn their heads to look at me, and I don't like how they're doing it.

"...There's a sign. By the door."

They go back to their phones, their cards, whatever the hell they're doing. I can't see that high. Fedor, or who I assume to be Fedor, wobbles over to take a look at me. " _Chto eto_ , you know fyish? You look like weasel. How you know fyish?"

I roll my eyes, strongly considering just walking out. "What's it to you?! I know fish. You said yourself I need a job, so what does it matter what I am?"

He narrows his eyes and stares for a moment, taking a puff from his cigar. "You brave or stupid?"

I shrug, shaking my head. "Both, I guess. What's your point?"

After what feels like several minutes, he laughs and pats my shoulder hard enough to stumble me. "You good kid! You get job. Any questions?"

I blink slowly, more confused than frustrated, and thinking to myself that I just need the money. "Uh, okay. What will I be doing, what are the hours, what's the pay, and are these guys waiting on an order?" I ask, pointing a thumb at the bears.

Fedor's face goes blank. "You don't worry about them. You don't talk to them. They not here. You understand?"

I so desperately want to turn around and run away from here. Unfortunately, I don't. "Okay... what about the other things I asked?"

Fedor drops some ash on the floor and looks up, thinking. "You clean fish. You come in eight at night Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, leave four in morning. Pay six dollar per hour."

Six dollars an hour? What the hell?! " _Six?_ Buddy, I already have a few ideas as to what's going on here, and you expect me to keep my mouth shut for six dollars an hour?" Like fuck am I getting up for a job at fucking _eight_ if six dollars an hour is all I'm getting!

I hear three chairs scrape against the floor and I almost piss myself before Fedor raises a paw, nodding. "Hmmmmm. Good point. Good help not cheap, _quiet_ help not-cheaper." I dare not correct him on that. "Nine dollar."

I don't want to be ripped in half by a bear, but I also don't want to sell out for so little. "Is-is-is that th-the best y-you've got?"

He snorts amusedly and takes another puff. "You not weasel. Weasel would shit pants. I pay you ten dollar per hour, and bonus."

From the looks of this shop, I don't know how he'd even afford to pay me ten  _cents_  an hour, but there's obviously more than fish going out that door. I figure if taxes won't be taken out, I can do pretty well for ten an hour. "Well... okay, you've got me interested, what do you mean 'bonus?'"

Fedor chuckles, adjusting his posture to what I'd call 'cocky fucker.' "Bonus free fish, let say... you weight per week," he smarms, tapping my chest with the gross end of his cigar. "What say, you like?"

Son of a bitch, why didn't he offer me free fish at six an hour?! Wait, scratch that thought. I want the ten. Maybe I'll stick with this gig for a while; after all, it's something I know very well. "I say, you got an apron in my size?"

 

I drag myself up the steps to Harry's apartment, a bag of thawing herring on my shoulder, and drop my salty carcass on the floor outside his door. Fuck, I'm exhausted... I must have lost all my strength since moving here. Probably a good thing my body ate my muscles instead of starving. "Harry." No response. " _Harry_." I sigh. He'll get in shit with the landlord if I scratch up the door. Better just text. _"Dude open the door."_

I hear the telltale shuffling of feet against old carpet, indicating I've woken him from a nap. He opens the door a crack, peeking out, then looking down at where I lay. "What the... dude, why are you on the floor? How'd everything go?"

"I got the job. Here, pull me in." I raise a paw, grasping.

He sighs and grabs hold, dragging me inside and closing the door behind us. "Fuckin' nice, bro. So what's the gig? When are your hours, what's it pay, what... wait." He sniffs the air, finally noticing the distinct aroma. "Dude... oh dude, tell me you're sharing."

"Man, do you think I was gonna hog this shit after you fucking took me in? As soon as I can stand, we're frying a couple of these fuckers up."

Harry is giddy, almost to the point of skipping. "Oh man, I can't believe this! What kinda job did you get?!"

I manage to sit upright, taking a deep breath. "It's this little shithole fish store in Tundratown. Owner's got arthritis, so he has trouble cleaning fish, and I don't know how the _fuck_ he got my information."

"No shit?"

"Yeah. There's something fishy going on there, too, if you'll pardon the pun, because there's no way in hell he does enough business just selling fish to mobsters."

"Wait... mobsters?"

"I'm not making this up, dude, the whole night there were three polar bears at a corner table and maybe ten customers came through. But he's paying me ten bucks an hour cash-in-hand and my weight in fish every week, so I don't give a FUCK."

Harry blinks for a moment, in clear disbelief. "Well... I mean, they take care of their guys, I guess. And if the cops come in, what do you know? You just work there, right?"

I shrug. "I guess. Here, help me up, we've got to get this shit started."

Harry helps me into the kitchenette, where we set about looking for equipment. It's been so long since I had real food. "Okay, just get me a pan and a fork for now. While I'm prepping these fish, find a glass jar and a lid."

"Like a pickle jar?"

"Perfect. Good thing we forgot to put out the recycling, I guess." This is a good morning. "I'd rather leave these things out to dry, but it's too fucking warm in this city, and there's no wind in a fridge, so we'll just fry a couple of them. How much salt do you have?"

"Buddy, I've got all the salt in the world since you moved in."

That takes me a moment. I quietly facepalm, but not for long. These things will burn in the blink of an eye. "No really, we're gonna need salt for the other ones. Do you have any herbs?"

"Herbs? What do I look like, Ewelia Child?"

"Okay, _fine_. We don't need those yet anyway, just get out all the salt you have." I never thought I'd miss the smell of cooking fish so much. "Holy shit, I'm so excited. I haven't had fish in so long, do you know what that's been like? I grew up eating nothing _but_ fish, everything here especially is just... it's horrible, I don't know how you eat it. Like bread, seriously, what the fuck _is_ bread?! It's like eating a fucking sponge!"

Harry stares at me. "What, have you _eaten_ a sponge?"

"I- wha- no. Who the fuck eats sponges? I've never been that fucking hungry."

"Right, you just steal birds' eggs out of their nests."

"DUDE, WHAT THE FUCK."

"You thought I was gonna let you off the hook for that shit?!" he laughs, reminding me of darker times. "Fucking creep level five thousand, man!"

"Fuckin' dick."

With two plain fried herring done, I start preparing the few I have left. "Gimme the salt. You're in for a treat in a few days, I promise you. It's not gonna be just like home, but goddamnit, I've missed this."

Harry looks up from his fish and swallows. "What're you doin' to it?"

"I'm gonna pack it in salt for a day. Tomorrow night I'm gonna get some dill, maybe an onion, and I'm gonna pickle it."

He almost spits out his dinner. "The fuck? Why are you gonna ruin it, this shit is good enough!"

I shake my head. "It's called culture, Harry. Read a book."

"Man, if culture means makin' fish pickles, I think I'll just watch TV."


	11. Ketchup

No dreams. Just sleep. Deep, restful sleep. That kind of sleep where you're splayed out like an accident victim, mouth agape, drooling a puddle on the pillow. Perfect peace. Until Harry explodes out of his room, shouting at the top of his fucking lungs. In an unconscious panic I scramble to my feet and leap off the couch, splattering against the wall and collapsing into a heap on the floor.

"DUDE, THEY FIGURED IT OUT! THEY FUCKING DID IT!"

I pull myself off the floor and shuffle, zombie-like, toward the source of the noise. I can't see anything distinct, but I can tell from the light that it's too goddamn early for this kind of shit. I eventually reach Harry and try to pull him down to my eye level, gripping pawfuls of his fur. "Harry... SHUUUUT UUUUUUUUUUUUP!! Cheese and rice, what fucking time is it?!"

"It's five thirty, dude," he replies.

I rub my eyes and feel my way back to the couch. "Okay... what's so important that you'd wake me up this early to tell me about? Did all the seals fuck off to their home planet or something?"

"No, they... what? No, they figured out why predators have been going savage, man. We're in the clear! You don't have to worry about shit anymore, it's over!"

I blink, processing this for a moment. "Wait. Seriously? Well what the fuck was it? Holy shit, _was_ it zombies?!"

"No, man, better. Or... worse. It was a conspiracy, bro, like you won't fucking _believe!_ What was that thing you said about seals?"

I grab my glasses and phone from the table, ignoring Harry and his question for a brief moment. It's quite literally the only story on Zoogle, ZNN, ZBC, every news site. Holy shit, this is unbelievable. "The fucking MAYOR?! Are you _shitting_ me? What the fuck, are we living in a movie?"

For no reason, Harry and I both stare briefly at an empty spot on the wall. We snap out of it and never mention this.

"I know, right? Like Jack Savage is gonna drop out of a helicopter through the window at any second. It's fucking nuts."

"What the fuck, how were they doing it?"

"Not sure, man, story just broke. Guarantee we're gonna be hearing more about it for weeks, maybe _months_. Whole fucking city's gonna be a giant party tonight, dude! What should we do?"

"What should we do? We should go the fuck back to sleep because it's _five fucking thirty_." I put my phone and glasses back on the coffee table, drop onto the couch, and close my eyes.

Harry huffs. Must be too pumped to sleep. "All right, you can sleep. But we're gonna fuckin' party tonight."

 

I awake a few hours later, though that's a random guess as to how long it's been. It's been long enough to dream about something, because I think I've been trying to eat the pillow. Ech, this tastes like crap... I need real food. SHIT, I HAVE REAL FOOD! It's- not done yet. Damnit, I should have left one out for snacking. I sigh, wishing for more fish. Soon enough, soon enough... I need to buy an onion tonight. Maybe some dill. "Harry, are you up?" I feel around for my glasses, finding them easily for once, and start getting dressed.

Harry emerges from his room, a trail of smoke following him. He's been up the whole time, no doubt. "DUUUUUDE. I got the hunger of the _beast_ , what're we eating?"

"Avoid the pillows. Let me get a hit off that and we'll see what's happening tonight."

We step onto the street. It's strangely quiet here, but there's a dull roar coming from a few blocks away that has our fur standing on end. "Oh man, is that a block party?! Get your little feet movin', man, we're rockin' out tonight!"

I follow Harry, lagging behind due to my short legs. He's not gonna make me scamper, is he? That's so embarrassing... "DAMNIT, HARRY, SLOW DOWN." I can tell what's waiting for us, it's a big fucking crowd. What's special about that? I hate crowds. I get stepped on in crowds! "Dude, hold up! Come on, man, really, can't we just... ugh." He's not paying attention. Fine. I'll just... have to... "NYEHH!" I push as hard as I can, springing towards Harry's back. It's barely enough of a jump, but I manage to cling onto his back and ride along. Damn, he's barely slowed down. Thanks, starvation diet.

I drop onto my feet once we reach the event, and cheese and rice is it a fuckin' party. Predators are singing, screaming, making out, and drinking. They're drinking like it's being banned tomorrow, I've never seen anything like it. Some guy draws glasses on a pillow, and another rips it to shreds. Harry bums us a couple beers off someone who's happy to oblige, and in no time I'm almost stepped on by a bear.

"HOLY SHIT, THERE'S SOMEONE _DOWN_ HERE, WANNA WATCH WHERE YOU'RE STEPPING?"

I'm answered by a smaller voice than I'd expected. "OH DAMN, I'm sorry, brother. Who's down there?"

"Oh shit, NORM. Dude, you got a shoulder free? I'm gonna get squashed down here!"

He plucks me up with one paw and plops me on his shoulder without another word. "Damn, I coulda killed you, mammal. You okay?"

"Yeah, besides my ears bleeding. _Fuck_ it's loud here, how do you stand it?"

"You're crazy. This is the shit right here, man! Are you not a party guy?"

"Hell no. Parties at home were fucking silent compared to this, and I was a dickhead in college so I didn't get invited anyway."

"Well you and me, we gonna fix that tonight. Where's Harry?"

"Check under your other foot?"

He laughs, tittering like a giant princess. "I'm gonna show you around, you get a little more alcohol in you and you'll love it here."

Yeah, sure. That sounds sensible.

 

I think I can see the appeal of this kind of party. Not being stepped on has a lot to do with that. The fact that someone brought something besides fucking beer helps, too.

"DUDES. I gotta find something to eat. I'm fuckin' wasting away over here."

Norm and I exchange a look. Harry's obviously not going to starve in the next fifteen minutes. "He's got a point. I don't think I've had anything to eat all night."

Norm shrugs, nearly dislodging me. "Oh, sorry... maybe we can see if the Bug Burga down the road's open."

With my mini bottle of wine in one paw, I point forward with the other and command, "ONWARD."

This is kinda cool. It's not much faster than my normal walking pace, but I can just sit here and drink as I'm literally carried to food! I could get used to this. I've always wondered what it was like to ride a larger mammal... a lot of tales have folks riding horses, but they're often slaves in those old stories, so that's pretty shitty.

Harry is singing some kind of... sandwich song as we walk. That's the only way it can be described. _"Buggy on a bun, motherfucker you're the one... gonna put you in my mouth, chew you up and send you south, UNH. Ketchup on a critter put some mustard on a fritter, gonna get you with my voodoo gonna turn you into doodoo..."_

"Dude, what the fuck. You're gonna make me piss myself on his shoulder," I laugh, clinging tenaciously to Norm's jacket.

"Man, I had to clean up duck blood offa you before, you piss on this jacket I'mma flush you."

"Dude, don't fucking say that. I've fallen in a toilet before, one of those automatic ones, and it almost fucking got me. I'm serious."

They both laugh, of course. Once again I'm being serious, and they're laughing. "OH MY GOD, why didn't that make any of your sets, dude?! That's fucking gold!"

"Because I'm still fucking traumatized! God, Harry, let me get over it first, would ya?" This merits a drink of wine. I can't believe I've put away half this bottle already. For cheap garbage, it's not half bad. "Holy shit! Norm, you think they'll give us food if I take you through the drive-thru? You can make car noises!"

"Motherfucker, I been on my feet all night, I ain't goin' through the drive-thru! You right though, we gotta do that sometime. Maybe get Chet to put it online, you think?"

"Fuck. Yes."

We make it inside, and the place is practically deserted. This isn't surprising, the party down the street is still visible from here. The usual badger is behind the counter, and as soon as he takes our order, he hops off his box and... starts cooking. I guess he's the only one here. At least the food'll be fresh.

 

As it turns out, cricket dippers are only slightly less crappy when they're fresh. God, I hate the food here. This whole city is nothing but processed, industrial paste shit out of a robot and pressed into a variety of fun shapes; flavor optional. You get three flavors to choose from: sugar, salt, and dirt. Cricket dippers seem to be a combination of salt and dirt, heavy emphasis on the dirt. Then they give you ketchup with them, bringing sugar into the mix, as if it'll mask the fact that you're eating pieces of fucking dirt! Cheese and rice, no wonder I've lost weight living here. I feel bad for everyone who's lived here their whole lives and never knew any better!

Harry notices me not eating. "Dude. You gonna finish those?"

"Hell no. You can have 'em."

He needs no further permission. Down the hatch they go, along with the rest of the garbage he eats. Norm watches me quietly for a moment before speaking.

"You okay, man? You said you was hungry."

"Yeah, I was. Then I remembered what Bug Burga tastes like."

Harry takes a break from stuffing his face to take a breath. "He doesn't understand the deliciousness, Norm, it's weird. He'd rather go hunt for-"

I jump up and clamp his mouth shut with both paws, knowing full well I can't hold him for long. "If you're gonna bring that up again, I'm gonna bite your ass!"

Harry raises his paws calmly. "Chill, bro. It's cool. If you wanna steal birds' babies that's OH SHIT, OKAY, I'LL QUIT. Cheese and crackers, man, how have you got such big goddamn teeth?"

Norm is beside himself in the opposide side of the booth, laughing so hard he has to hold his phone against the table to record anything watchable. "You fuckin'... you gonna make me piss myself... oh man, it's too much."

I cover my face, embarrassed, and try to calm down as Harry pats my back. "Hey, dude, I'm just teasin'. Why you gettin' so worked up about it?"

"I don't know, man, it's just... I just get so defensive about that stuff. I grew up hunting and fishing, and it's like you're trying to make me feel bad about it. Then I realize I'm acting like one of those assholes, and they're why I left, and I get into this whole thing about-"

Harry interrupts my monologue. Just as well, this isn't a good place for introspection. "I mean... you steal eggs, dude, it's kinda nasty."

I throw my paws in the air. "Well, where the hell do you think eggs come from? At least the ones I take are fresh, and I know where they come from. You go buy eggs in the store, you don't know where the hell they've been!"

Harry thinks. "That's kind of a weird justification for poaching."

"No, _that's_ weird, thinking that the birds in this city belong to the city. Poaching? Stealing wild animals? Birds don't _belong_ to anybody, they're fucking birds!"

A voice calls from across the restaurant. "Hey, you wanna shut the fuck up? There's other mammals here, you know!"

Harry whirls around, surprised, and notices two white wolves. "VIVI. THERESE! WHY THE HELL ARE YOU OVER THERE."

One of them, I have no clue which, winces and replies. "You gonna quit screaming?"

She's followed by her sister. "We're over here so we can eat where it's not fucking _loud_."

Harry frantically motions them over, and refuses to take no for an answer. Rolling their eyes, the sisters finally make their way, looking between the benches.

"Okay Harry, if we're sitting here, you gotta move."

Harry scrambles over the table and into the other bench, squeezing in beside Norm. The girls slide in, and I jump onto the table myself to avoid being squashed.

"HOLY SHIT, what the fuck?! What the hell are you-"

I stare her down, motioning emphatically toward the bench. "Would you LOOK before you sit?! I'm not _that_ goddamn small!" I take a seat against the window, crossing my arms. I'm not drunk enough to deal with this.

"Cripes, sorry."

The five of us begin talking, and tempers (okay, _my_ temper) begin to cool. I barely remember meeting these two. I must have made more of an impression on them than they did on me, but it unfortunately wasn't a good one. "Yeah, sorry about that. I was having a shitty day."

"Eh, whatever," Vivi shrugs, I think.

"So uh, which of you is which?"

They roll their eyes in unison. "She's Therese, I'm Vivian. It's not like we're identical."

I blink. "You look pretty fucking identical."

Therese laughs. "Are you serious? We're not even twins, I'm a year older. We just kinda _look_ alike."

I shrug. "All right. I get mistaken for a different species every day, so I figure just looking alike is enough to confuse some mammals."

Vivi looks up from her burga. "What, folks never seen a red panda before?"

I run a paw down my face.

"I'm kidding. I can tell a ferret when I see one."

I throw a ketchup packet, nailing her on the cheek.

"You little...!"

Norm giggles. "I just call him an asshole. It seems to fit."

I think about that and shrug. Hell, not like there's a name for what I am anyway, aside from the H-word. "Fuck it, you know what? I like that. My name is Reese and I'm an asshole. What say we get the fuck out of here and do something?"


	12. Calcium

"...and that's the story of the bear hunters." I lean back, my smile fading as I look over the confused faces of my audience. "What."

Harry shakes his head. "Dude, do _all_ of your stories end with 'everybody dies?'"

I look to Norm, then to Vivi and Therese, and back to Harry, with a shrug. "A lot of them, I think, but that's how life is, why would stories be any different?"

"Okay, man, what kinda stories do they tell to little kits where you're from?"

"That was one of them. That one was my _favorite_ , actually."

"Your _favorite?_ Why wouldn't they tell you something happy, like where they win against the bear?"

I laugh. "Win? They _did_ win, they stopped the damn bear from raiding their village!"

Therese tilts her head. "But they died."

I sigh. "It's about courage and sacrifice. What the hell kind of stories were you all raised on? A bunch of minks going against a bear, what the hell do you _think_ is gonna happen? It's a miracle they took the fucker down! Isn't that enough for you?!"

Norm shrugs. "Didn't you have like, Mother Goose and shit? Things like Hansel and Gretel?"

I raise a finger to Norm. "Okay. Hansel and Gretel, I've read that one, and it's dark as _shit_ , so don't you try to hold that one up. Yeah, they get away, but their father left them in the woods to die because of a famine."

Harry drums his paws on the table. "Wow. I think I understand why you're so messed up, dude, if you were told stories like that."

"Maybe _you're_ the ones who are messed up, because you've been spoon-fed all that Disney crap that the world is magical and fair. These are stories that have been told for centuries, maybe longer, and those fairy tales you all heard have been cleaned up and sanitized for sensitive ears. Kids used to learn important lessons from those tales! Things like don't lie, don't play with fire, don't-"

Harry interrupts, "Don't open the door for witches?"

Norm laughs. "Yeah, or how to get yo ass crunched by a bear, I guess."

I throw my paws in the air. "RESPECT! These stories teach kits to _respect_ things! You don't throw stones at your neighbor or you'll have stones thrown back, don't play with fire or you'll lose everything, and if you see an eagle you STAY INSIDE. Normal things!"

Vivi shakes her head. "Okay, like... one or two of those is normal, out of how many stories?"

"No, all of those things are normal."

"How is being afraid of birds normal?!"

"I..." I don't know how to respond to that. I look to Harry in disbelief, then back to Vivi. "It's completely normal to be afraid of eagles when they're _bigger_ than you are. I have a great-aunt who's lucky she just lost her tail!"

All four of them look astonished, as if they've forgotten that there are animals out there that can kill smaller folks. Harry's the first to speak. "Wow, shit. Is that why you hate birds?"

"No, that's not why I hate birds. I don't even hate birds, I just prefer them dead, plucked, and cooked."

"Hey, did I tell you guys he stole eggs once?"

Therese cocks her head. "What, like from a store?"

"Harry, would you shut your mouth?" I'm not dealing with this shit again.

"No, dude, like from a nest!"

"Fucking sick!!"

"WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK EGGS COME FROM?!"

 

Our friendly screaming match is interrupted by the arrival of another: a very small arctic fox, who hops onto the bench beside Therese and sets a plain glass bottle on the table. "What the fuck is everyone screaming about, and have I missed anything good?"

Therese is too busy laughing, so it falls to Vivi to provide introductions. "Hey Asa. This is that asshole we told you about, the one who's crashing with Harry. Turns out he's not a total dick, but he's fucking crazy."

Norm catches his breath and fixes his gaze on the bottle Asa brought. "Ohhh, did somebody bring a treat?"

"You're damn _right_ somebody brought a treat! I've been waiting for an excuse to bring this out, show you bitches what you've all been missing from your lives. Harry, go grab some ketchup cups!"

"Oh, sweet!" He jumps off the bench and freezes, looking to the lone employee. "Uh, hey, dude? Is it cool if we drink in here?"

The badger turns his sleepy gaze to Harry and shrugs. "I don't see anything, do you?"

Harry chuckles. "You're the man."

"Just try not to barf on the floor, if you gotta."

Harry returns with his paws full of ketchup cups and dumps them on the table. Asa looks at the heap before her and asks, "Uh, you can count, right? There's only six of us."

"Well, yeah, but they're paper, so I figured they might not last."

She shrugs. "Eh, that's fair."

Asa starts pouring and Therese passes the cups around, seeing that everyone's got a shot. It's a good thing we're not making a game of this. What's a drop for norm is a full cup of coffee for me, and this stuff smells strong. I give it another whiff. Is that dill?

Asa holds her first shot high, prompting the rest of us into a toast. "Let's hope that sheep bitch gets life! SKÅL!"

All of us take our drinks, and begin screaming. Norm, panicking, upends the ketchup bottle onto his tongue. Harry is violently licking the sandwich wrapper in front of him, hoping crumbs and grease will kill the taste. I think Vivi and Therese are speaking in tongues. Asa seems disappointed, once the grimace fades from her face.

"Shit... think I left the stuff in too long. Or used too much. Maybe both."

"What the fuck were you _going_ for?" I ask, wiping tears from my eyes.

"Fuckin'... real akevitt's too expensive, so I bought some vodka, and threw in some dill and some oak chips. I figured, hey, it's not the real thing, but it'll be close."

Harry pulls the chewed-up wad of wax paper from his mouth and shudders. "Well next time, maybe don't use other folks for test subjects, holy shit."

Norm points at the bottle, shrinking away from it. "That shit is evil. I say we go get some not-poison to drink, yeah?"

Everyone agrees to that. As we flock to the exit, though, I remember something. "Shit... hey man, you got any onions back there?"

The badger turns to look at me with his usual zen countenance. "Shit yeah, we got tons."

"You mind parting with one?"

"Suit yourself." He hops off whatever box is behind the counter and returns a moment later, tossing me a nice red onion.

"Sweet! Thanks, dude."

"Don't sweat it."

 

Oof. I think that wine's really getting to me now. I'd normally have a hard enough time keeping up with longer-legged mammals, but my legs feel lightheaded... wait. That makes no sense. Shit, I don't even remember walking TO the Bug Burga, how did I... that's right, I was riding on Norm's shoulder! "Hey! Norm, catch a ride?"

Norm looks down. "Oh yeah, sure ma- where'd you get that onion?"

"Nevermind the onion. I can't keep up with you guys." He plops me gently on his shoulder and I stuff my prize under my arm, trying to get my pipe from my bag. "Where are we going?"

Harry twirls theatrically as he walks, throwing his arms out in wonderment. "Man, where _aren't_ we going? We can do whatever the hell we want tonight."

Therese snorts. "Yeah, sure we can. How about we pick a bar, instead?"

"Somewhere with a patio," I add, fumbling for a match.

"What the hell, did you steal some kid's bubble pipe? You look like a douchebag."

I lock eyes with Therese and start puffing. "Joke's on you, I know I'm a douchebag." Norm laughs, nearly shaking me from my perch. Other than that little hiccup, this is pretty sweet... I wonder why I've never tried to hitch a ride like this before.

We try a dozen or so bars and clubs, but they're all absolutely packed. We shouldn't be surprised, really, given the circumstances; everyone's been too worried to come out and drink, so there's a backlog of frustrated predators who haven't been out for weeks. I've got a goddamn pipe burning right in front of my nose, and the smell is staggering. Half the city will probably be sold out of contraceptives by the morning. No, before you ask, I'm _not_ envious.

...Fine, I am. Who the fuck are you, anyway? Why don't you worry about your own problems, huh?

Norm's tired of trying the bars. "Shit, let's just hit a liquor store. Cops ain't out here tonight anyway, who's gonna care?"

Shrugs are exchanged, heads rattle up and down.

"You are an idea man, my friend," says Asa, who scans the horizon. She finds nothing. Not because it's not there, though, rather because she's only half again my height, and I wouldn't be seeing shit through the crowd either.

Harry jumps, shouting. "I KNOW JUST THE PLACE." He dashes away, leading us all on a wild goose chase. I cling to Norm's shirt with my free paw in a desperate attempt to avoid hitting the ground and having to walk. I have a reason! My feet are still sore, why are you judging me so much? Goddamn!

Harry stops in front of a tiny storefront. "Hole in the wall" would be a generous title. This place is too small for half our party to enter, and how it hasn't been demolished and replaced with a more-accessible building is anyone's guess. It's probably the oldest thing I've seen in this city, built long before accessibility was even a footnote in the city's codebook. With a sigh, I ask Norm to hold my onion, and begin my descent.

"Ow! OOH! Man, you better watch them claws!"

"Man, what am I gonna do, scratch you to death? You're fine."

 

I reach the ground and catch my balance, staggering into the store. It smells entirely unlike anything I've ever experienced before. Herbal, sort of, and slightly smoky. If I didn't have a pipe in my face, I'd probably get a better whiff, but I'm not about to put this out halfway through. The owner - I assume they're the owner, since they look about as old as the building - doesn't seem to mind that. I have to stop myself from staring at him. He almost looks familiar, but I'm not here to make friends.

Harry squeezes past me, his arms already laden with bottles, and scans the dusty shelves for more. Asa crouches nearby, obviously confused by what she sees, and understandably so. I have no clue what half of this stuff is, but I'm just drunk enough to grab a few out of bravery. Plum wine? Well it says wine on it, so that's good enough for me. What the hell is this one, I've never seen anything white on a liquor shelf. _KYMbIC?_ There's something else written beneath it, I couldn't hope to read it. Some different alphabet entirely. I grab it anyway and continue looking. Ah! That looks like vodka, who doesn't like vodka? At least when it's not infused with toxic amounts of dill, everyone likes vodka. I'll just drag these over to the counter.

"Hi, uh, just these."

The owner looks me over, squinting at me for an uncomfortable amount of time. "Yes." He begins punching buttons on a calculator, slowly, and seems excited when he sees the 'kymbic.' "Ah! You like?" he asks, nodding and pointing.

I shrug. "I have no idea what it is, but I'm willing to try it."

He laughs, his ancient eyes twinkling strangely. I've never seen anyone like him. Maybe it's the alcohol, but I'm almost convinced this old man is magic, or knows magic. He's definitely a polecat, but some variety I've never seen before. How many kinds of us are there? He's entirely black and white as far as I can see, and the mask pattern goes all the way down and around his cheeks, leaving his snout as a white spot broken only by his nose. "In my home, we call _ayrag_ , or _kumis_. If you like, come back, always have more! Total eighteen sixty-three."

I pay the wizard and wonder aloud, "I'm sorry to ask, but... are you a polecat?"

He thinks for a moment and nods. "Yes, in my language, _ereen khürne_. In yours, I call marbled polecat. Now I ask. You are..." he squints, leaning closer. "You are mink?"

I blink. This old man is the first mammal I've ever met who thought I looked like a mink. "I'm... wow. Everyone I've ever met thought I was just a big weasel."

He shakes his head. "No, no. Weasel have white belly, white throat. You look like mink. Big red mink."

I stand in silence, stunned, for a moment. This man is DEFINITELY a wizard. "I'm uh, I have erythrism."

He stares. "Your fingers, paws hurt?"

"No, no, not arthritis. I'm just red. My father, I got it from him. It runs in his family." I don't know why I'm sharing so much with this old man. I'm a little drunk, sure, but I'm normally tight-lipped about myself no matter how much I drink. Holy shit, is he casting a spell on me?

He nods. "And he is mink?"

I shake my head. "No, he's a polecat. My mother is a mink."

His eyes open wide, and he grins. " _Khonorik!_ "

"Uh, what? I don't speak... uh... that." How long has it been? Why am I still talking to this sorceror? I want to go get drunk.

"You are khonorik! I had friend, years ago. In his country, he was called khonorik, a son of mink and polecat."

Khonorik... is that me? Is that a thing? My parents don't know that. I know, I asked them many times. They didn't even know they could breed, so me showing up was a bit of a surprise to say the least, but there's someplace in the world where I'm not a circus attraction? "Are you serious? There's a _word_ for what I am?!"

He's beside himself with joy. "You did not know? You are khonorik! What did you call yourself?"

His smile is contagious. That, or he's cast a spell on me. But you know what? I think I'm okay with him doing that, because I've never really had an answer for this. I just called myself Reese and ignored the existential problems for the most part. "I don't- I don't know what to say. My god, I need... I need to get a new ID. Mine just has a fucking H on it!"

Harry gets my attention. "Dude, that's awesome. But you're kinda blocking the counter."

"Oh, shit. Sorry. Thanks, sir, so much. I don't... I don't know how to thank you."

Asa gently pushes me out of the way and sets her stuff on the counter. I go outside to get some fresh air and tell Norm about this.

 

Since everywhere's full, we all head to Norm's to drink. The vodka doesn't last long, since I couldn't carry a very large bottle. The plum wine is less 'wine' and more 'alcohol with plum flavor,' but that's not a bad thing. I pour a glass of this white stuff, this... I can't remember what he called it. But I'm drinking it, and I'm drinking a toast to the strange wizard from a far-off land who gave me a name for what I am. "Okay, this stuff... WOAH. What _is_ this?" I ask, as I pour for everyone. This bottle isn't sized for me.

"God, I hope it tastes better than it smells. It smells like old milk." Vivi wrinkles her nose as she gets close, wafting a paw to diffuse the odor.

"Why would they have _milk_ at a liquor store? Just drink!" I command, chugging my glass. Oh god, it tastes like it smells! It's just old milk with a hint of alcohol!

Therese starts laughing uncontrollably, looking at something on her phone. Her glass remains untouched.

Asa smacks her lips in distaste, trying to push the flavor out with her tongue. "The hell's so fucking funny?"

"IT'S HORSE MILK! YOU ALL JUST DRANK FUCKING _HORSE MILK!_ " she cries, tears running down her cheeks.

A chorus of disgust echoes through Norm's living room as she cackles. Without a word being exchanged, Norm grabs Therese's jaws and holds them open for Vivi to dump the rest of the bottle down her throat. Hilarity, of course, ensues.

Things settle down, and eventually idle chatter begins. Asa, Vivi, and Therese are three out of four members of a metal band, it turns out, and they are looking for a van ever since their last van guy - Therese's ex - was caught banging groupies in his van.

"Yeah, I do have a van, but it's... in the shop." Why am I lying? It's being held for ransom, that's where it is.

Asa shrugs. "Okay. When's it gonna be done?"

Shit. "Uh, shouldn't... shouldn't be long. Couple weeks maybe." Stop lying. What are you doing?

"A couple weeks?! The fuck are they doing, building it out of toothpicks?"

"None of your business!" I shrug. "It's just gonna take time. So what about your band, what kind of stuff do you play?"

"You ever hear of folk metal?"

I blink. "Wait, what? That can't be real, that sounds like an oxymoron."

She shakes her head. "It's a growing genre. You've got bands with folk instruments, but ours is more like a metal band that just incorporates a lot of folklore, old melodies, that kind of thing."

Harry belches loudly and points at me. "THAT'S why I wanted to put you guys in touch! Asa, you'll never believe the shit he writes. It's all like, murdery and vikingy and shit. My dude here's a fucking _goldmine_ for that stuff."

I furrow my brow. He means well, really, but he could have at least explained this better.

Asa cocks her head. "No shit? What do you do, Reese?"

"Uh, as of yesterday or so I work at a fish store."

She rolls her eyes. "No, dumbass, what do you _do_. Do you write, do you sing, what?"

"Oh. I studied theater, so... yeah, I sing, I act, and I've been writing my whole life. Mostly stuff based on my granddad's old stories."

She thinks. "Yeah, we might be able to work with that. We'll have to get together sometime when we're not fucking drunk to figure anything out, though."

"Oh. Yeah, that'd be cool."

 

The sky begins to brighten, and our drunk asses begin to pass out. Snoring echoes throughout the apartment as I sleepily pull up Zoogle on my phone. What was that word? Konorik? That doesn't get me anywhere. Add mink. What? Not mask, MINK. Stupid predictive bullshit. Still nothing. Goddamnit, isn't Zoogle supposed to know everything? Konorik! Mink! Polecat! Nothing, nothing, nothing... wait, that looks like something. Khonorik. There's an h? Hybrid... holy shit, this is it. This is it!

An entire article about what I am, and I never knew anything about this? To be fair, the internet just barely reached home while I was living there. Not enough mammals there to make it profitable, I guess. Khonorik... coloration aside, it's like reading an article about me! Tend to be large? I'm bigger than my dad by a bit, and I was always bigger than everyone my age. Built like a polecat, but can swim like a mink? That's _me!_ My god. There are others like me. I'm not alone. I'm not alone! I can't believe it! I have to know more. What's this next bit about... wait. Wait, what? What?!

_Sterile?!_


	13. Quality Fish

Almost there... a treacherous climb, over a hundred feet up on worn stones, laid down centuries ago. The more weathered of them give way as easily as clay under my fingers. Just a few feet until the window I seek. I've been sent here by King Hans himself to rescue the princess Irma, who was stolen away by a damnable ogre. Granted, that's what they do: steal princesses. If they didn't, I'd be out of a job. Every kingdom needs a young hero. This generation it's me, and loath as I am to admit, if it weren't for ogres I'd still be dredging mud from the riverbank with a rope and a bucket. It's a shit job, but merchants keep building their boats bigger and bigger, and the river just isn't deep enough. Maybe if they'd build them a little _wider_ they wouldn't run aground so damn often!

I clear my head. The window is within reach. I must be vigilant! For whosoever shall return the princess, the king has sworn will have her paw in marriage. From bucket boy to prince, what a leap! I can think of a few townsfolk who're overdue their comeuppance, to say nothing of the town guard and their _attitude_. But Irma, dear Irma, fairest Irma... the only noble in town who has never once spat upon me as I dragged mud from the river. Is it a sign? Does she hold me in her heart, as I do her? Or is she just not the spitting type? I wouldn't know. I've certainly never followed her around the town just to see whether she spat on any others. I _have_ followed her from time to time, but that was really more because we were going the same direction anyway.

I squeeze in through the window, nary a slit in the wall of the tower. Those other wannabe heroes are such fools! I bet they'll be cursing their size and strength, after this. Poor sods can't climb like me, can't fit through tiny windows. They're downstairs, if they made it here at all, fighting their way through hordes of ogres and trolls. Suckers! I take a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light within. Scant few candles light the room, but in the dark haze, I see her - the princess, safe and sound, waiting to be released from her prison!

I whisper, cautious not to make too much noise. It would do me no favors to be heard by a guard. "Princess... princess! Princess Irma! By the window!"

She blinks, looking around, and squints into the light that filters in behind me. "Who... who is there?"

"It is I! I'm here to rescue you, to return you home to Swindlesham!"

"...The bucket boy?"

"Yes! The bucket- I mean, uh, my name is Reed. Reed the bucket boy. Come quick, to the window. I will bear you down the wall!"

"You're gonna _what_ me down the wall?" she asks, recoiling slightly.

"I... I'll carry you down. Just like, grab ahold, and hang on, I'll climb back down."

"Shouldn't you, like, fight the monsters or something? I figured anyone who'd rescue me would have to pass, like, tests. Strength, bravery, that kind of thing. You can't have just any schmuck getting a crack at princehood that easily."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, strength: I climbed a hundred-foot wall and barely broke a sweat. Bravery: I CLIMBED A HUNDRED-FOOT WALL. Not to get too far into it, but it's a good thing I went to the bushes _before_ I started climbing."

"Okay, TMI. Princess ears, yeah? Keep it G-rated."

"Yeah, sorry, my bad. Now do you want to get out of here, or do you-" a ringing sounds through the room. An alarm?!

"I think you're getting a call."

"Oh crap, that _is_ me. One sec, princess." I pull my phone from my beltpouch, and HEY, WAIT A MINUTE

 

I sit up, angrily, and look at my phone. Fuck! Where are my glasses? I'll just answer it. "Hello? HELLO?" Why's it just fucking ringing?! Glasses... where the FUCK did I put my glasses. Cheese and rice, of all the things- where the hell are my pants? Son of a bitch, what a way to start the night. HA. GOT 'EM. God, I'm dumb when I'm drunk. Let's see what's... 'alarm?' Oh shit, ALARM. I can't work tonight, I'm hungover as shit! I groan, pushing my glasses up to rub my eyes. I need to go, I need the money. That crazy fucker would probably send someone to find me if I don't show, anyway.

"Turn that shit OFF," someone complains. I don't care who it is. I don't have time to care. I need to catch two buses and a goddamn train. Fuck, my head hurts. Where... shit, I still need to find my pants! At least I can see now. Easy to find them. Get my pants, get my bag, get my ass _out of here_. God, I hope my bus runs past Norm's building.

I make my way down and step outside to see that the goddamn sun's still up. FUCK. Why did I agree to those hours? At least that she-troll's not up yet. I want to deal with her as much as I want bone spurs. There'd better be a bus stop on this block.

I sigh, settling onto the seat of my train. Why are the lights on in this car? Why are they so fucking bright? I squint, looking around, wondering who else is on this train. A bunch of early-shift predators by the looks of it. Somehow I feel better when I see them, maybe because they look _exactly_ like I feel. I'm not the only one who has to suffer through a night of work.

The train comes to a stop and I jerk awake, having fallen sideways. Shit, was I really sleeping? I scramble for my phone and check the time. Oh, thank goodness, it was just a few minutes. Is this my stop? Tundratown Central. The doors open, and I can see the warm air leave the car. That's when it dawns on me: my sweater is at Harry's apartment. I dig through my bag, hoping I've left something in there. All I've got is a long-sleeved tee that says 'FUCK.' Yes, shirt. That's exactly right. Where the hell did I even get this? Doesn't matter. A quick costume change later, it's hidden under the button-up I wore last night. It's a good thing I'm bred for cold weather.

I catch my second bus and shiver all the way to my stop. Breeding, schmeeding! I must have lost some of my tolerance. Hell, maybe the cold will keep me awake. No time to get a coffee anywhere, though I shouldn't buy coffee anyway. The prices are outrageous here. One cold bus ride and a colder three-block walk later, I'm finally yanking the door to Fedor's.

" _Kakago cherta!_ You late!" Fedor growls, pointing to the clock.

"The bus was late!" is my reply. It wasn't, I just think his clock is fast. I stalk past the three bears, past the counter, and towards the back of the shop.

Fedor stops me with a paw on my shoulder and looks down at me, like he's studying me. Oh god, why? Why is today the day I die? He hums, pointing a finger at my face. "You look like shit. You sick?"

"Oh. Uh, no, I'm... I'm just really hung over."

He laughs. "Ah! Yes, everyone drink last night! Little man cannot handle?"

"I can handle more than you think."

"Here. I show you trick, help with hangover, keep you warm. Old trick, best trick!" He reaches under the counter and pours me a shot of vodka. Well, a shot by his standards, maybe. For me it's a glass. "Cannot feel hangover if always drinking!" he adds, tapping a finger to his head.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Someone really needs to tell this guy that drunkenness isn't a way of life. But he's right, in a stupid sort of way, and I really don't want to offend him, so I drink it down, shuddering as I finish.

"HA! You will see. Work go smooth, never better. Now go!"

 

He shoos me into the back and I look at the half-frozen pile of fish before me. I grab my apron and knife, both of which are two sizes too big for me, and set about cleaning fish one by one. Cut cut, slit slit, head and guts, fins and scales... sneaking a snack here or there. There was no time for breakfast this evening, and I'm sure he won't mind. There's a lot of fish here and my stomach is very small. Hell, some of these fish are bigger than me. He's not losing money.

Eventually I settle into a good pace. Some of these fuckers I really can't rush, they're just too damn big! I'm making good progress on the day's work, though. Only difference between this and my first job is that back then I wasn't alone. It's much easier to get these big ones done when you're part of a crew, but they're not impossible by one's lonesome. You just need to take it easy, not try to push yourself too ha-

OOOH! SCORE! Wherever this fish came from - or what she is, maybe some kind of hake - is a mystery to me, but I can tell she was all ready for spawning season, because she's practically _bursting_ with beautiful, juicy roe. Carefully, gently, I cut around the sac, pulling my prize from the belly of the beast. WOW, what a whopper! Such big, bright eggs... my mouth is watering just thinking about these tender morsels when I realize I don't know where Fedor wants me to put this. I sigh. I suppose I ought to ask.

I poke my head through the door and listen. He's talking to someone I can't see past the counter in a language I don't understand. Just sounds like business, though. As soon as he's wrapped their order and handed over their change, I call for him. "Hey, Fedor? Where do you want me to put roe?"

"What?"

"Where do you want roe? Eggs? Uh, what's the... caviar?"

He hops off his stool and trundles over, pulling the door open and pushing past me. He looks it over, feeling the weight of it and turning it over in his paws. He looks at me. "You eat?"

"...If you're asking me if I ate any of it, I haven't." I _really want to_ , but I haven't. Yet. Maybe.

He looks back to it and hums. He pokes a hole with a claw and spills a few bright-orange eggs into his palm. They look like marbles or candy in his dark paw but for a seafood lover like me, they're infinitely better. Just putting flavor aside, they're a lot easier on your teeth than glass or sugar. He tosses them into his mouth and chews, obviously testing their flavor. Oh, to have just one... I can't remember the last time I had fresh roe, one more of the many little things I took for granted back home.

He nods. "Very good. I make call, buyer pay well." Oh. They're already spoken for, I guess. He wraps the roe sac in paper and tapes it, setting it aside.

 

I finish the fish I'd been working on and slide it over to the rest. I reach for the next one and drag it onto the bench with a sigh, and so passes another several hours. Knife goes in, guts come out. Knife goes in, guts come out. Knife goes in, guts come... goddamnit, it's my second day here. Am I just allergic to having a job or is this really as boring as it seems? I'm about to start on the next fish when the door SLAMS open, and Fedor stomps in, dragging a kicking snow leopard who's caught in a headlock.

" _Vy byli preduprezhdeny, Maksim! Chto ya skazal vam o prosrochennoy oplate? Teper' ya dolzhen nauchit' vas uroku!_ " Oh god, I don't know what he's saying, but between his tone and that leopard's obvious pleading, I think I'm about to- "REESE! Come here!"

Oh no. No, no, I'm not...

"COME. HERE!"

Oh fuck, he'll kill me too if I don't. I stumble over, avoiding all eye contact.

"This boy, he good with knife. He gut fish twice his size in ten second! But he gut you _slooowly_. Look at his face. Is face of KILLER!" My blank, unfocused stare is the complete opposite of a killer's face, but I guess this guy doesn't know that, because he just about shits his pants as Fedor drags him back out front.

Wh- what just happened. What was that? Oh fuck, am I an accessory to something?! Shit, SHIT! Oh god, I'm _fucked_. I have to disappear, or I have to stay here forever now. There's no way whatever mob he's with will let me live a free life on the outside after what I've seen. I half-collapse onto the low workbench in front of me, gasping for breath. My paws nearly freeze to the cold surface from the sweat. Fedor bursts in again, and out of adrenalin-drunk panic, I grab the fish knife and hold it close to me, screaming loudly.

He's mildly surprised by this, but breaks into raucous laughter. "Act is over! Put knife down, is not needed."

I drop the knife and shudder, dripping with sweat. "Can I, uh, can I ask you something?"

He stops laughing and catches his breath, wiping a tear from his eye. "Okay, what is?"

"WHAT THE _FUCK_ WAS THAT?!" I snap my mouth shut as I hear three chairs slide loudly from up front.

Fedor sticks his head through the door and shouts something before turning back to me, his head tilted at a cocky angle. "I have... little side-business. Officially retired, but sometimes? Eh, have to take care of things. Nothing to worry about."

Oh, that's SO reassuring. "You pretty much threatened to kill that guy, but it's nothing to worry about?"

"Of course! Threat is not crime. And if is, he not tell police... he in too deep. You just work for fish shop, is separate from past."

I look to the door and back to Fedor, pointing towards the bears' corner up front.

"You worry too much. They just neighborhood watch," he assures me, waving a paw dismissively. "Any more question?"

"Yeah... uh, I don't think enough fish goes out that door for you to afford what you're paying me, so what _else_ is going on here?"

His face goes blank and he stares at me, as though he's trying to set me on fire with his mind. After a moment - just long enough for me to think I've really fucked up - he smiles again. " _Umnaya!_ Smart boy." He wags a finger. "No, shop not focus on volume. Focus on quality. Focus on customers, and on getting fish no one else can get. Business a little bit slow lately, but next week, have some special orders coming in. Rare fish, very rare... my customers, they have expensive taste."

I rub my forehead. "And these 'rare fish' are... _secret_ , right? They're illegal. Illegal fish."

Fedor taps a finger to his nose. "Very smart for fish boy. Smart enough to keep mouth closed, yes?"

I sigh, nodding.

He smiles again. "Good. My old paws, I can not cut fish all day anymore. Hurt too much." He raises them, looking at them, before raising a finger. "But it _not_ hurt too much to tie up a loose end. Okay? Finish work. Almost closing time."

He goes back up front and I'm left in the back, alone, wondering again how the HELL this maniac got my fucking number. Suppose I'll finish out my shift.

 

I drag my aching feet to Harry's door again, this time with just enough energy to open the door myself before I collapse onto the floor. Harry trundles over and looks down at me, poking me with a foot.

"Quit it."

"Bro, you're blocking the door."

"Yeah, I know. You can just roll me out of the way, it's fine."

He shrugs, grabbing my arms and dragging me to the couch before going back to close the door. "So how was it?"

"You ever hear about the black market as a kit?"

"Yeah. I watched a lot of tv shows I really shouldn't have, I used to think it was like, an actual store with guns and grenades and shit," he laughs.

"Yeah, well, now you know where I work, except it's fish."

"That's awesome."

"Kinda fucking scary, actually. Combine that with almost no sleep, a hangover from hell, and some real shitty feelings from last night, now try to imagine that."

"Yeah. I guess that'd be a little creepy." He plops onto the couch next to me. "What's got you screwed up from last night, though? You seemed pretty thrilled, and nobody said anything about a fight. What's up?"

I sigh. "It's kinda personal, dude. I don't know if you'd want to hear it, and I really don't know if I'd want to say it."

"Fair enough, but it's probably better to talk your shit out. I may have flunked out of college, but I remember one or two things from my psych classes, and internalizing shit isn't a good way to deal with stuff."

I shrug. "Maybe. I mean, it's worked for me so far, I just bottle it up and try to use that emotion on writing. It's just... I don't know, I didn't think I'd be so screwed up by something like this, you know?"

"Nah, I don't know. Maybe you should tell me about it."

"Okay, fine. You know I'm a... hybrid, right?"

"Yeah, dude. You've spent your life dealing with that, dealing with the shit that got thrown at you for being different in an extremely homogenous culture, and it's left a lot of scars. You're pissed at everyone you grew up with, you don't feel like you'll ever belong anywhere, and deep down you blame your parents for bringing you into such a painful world. But you're a pretty strong guy and you can work through all that shit. There are dozens of things you could do - a support group might be a good thing to try, maybe find out you're not so alone in this city. Therapy's another one, I know the universities have a program where you can talk to students for cheap, same as dental schools do. The main thing is, you're not alone, dude, and there's no shame in asking for a little help with stuff."

I stare at him, utterly confused, for several seconds.

"What? I didn't flunk out right away, I had a few pretty good semesters before I said 'fuck it.'"

"I just... can't imagine you doing something serious like that."

He shrugs. "I just wanna help, you know? Got fed up with the bullshit of the academic industry, and there's even more bullshit in the medical field. I figured I could help more folks by makin' 'em laugh instead, and I'm living my goddamn dream."

"Huh. Yeah, okay, I guess that makes... some kind of sense."

"Right on. So what's eating you?"

"Well, I... I found out I'm sterile."

He blinks, and stares forward for a moment. "Wow. Yeah, that's pretty personal shit." He lets his head fall onto the back of the couch. "You ever want kids?"

I raise my paws in a wide shrug. "No, actually. I'm not that into 'em, and I'm pretty sure I'd be a shitty dad to begin with."

Harry breathes a long sigh. "So... you don't want kids, and shootin' blanks has you messed up?"

"It's... I don't know, I think it's just the _ability_ means something. It's probably some of the macho bullshit I was raised around, but it just feels like I'm the lesser for it."

"Well fuck that. Focus on the positives, yeah? If you get into it with a nice girl, you don't have to run out for condoms, I guess."

"Dude, I live in a van. I don't _need_ condoms."

"Bro... that statement can go two entirely different ways."

"...Fuck." We laugh.


	14. Sweater

It feels like a year's passed since I've been on stage. The lights, the microphone, the audience, they all feel different. _I_ feel different. The past several weeks have been... well, rough would be a bit of an understatement. That's just the overall, though. There've been good things. Hopefully more to come now that Giggles is back up and running. Everything pretty much stopped for a while during the scare. Nobody wanted to come to a predator part of town during that, not even predators, if they could avoid it. Us chumps who live there, though, we were stuck. I still don't believe everything's going to be fine. Bellwether isn't what made me hunt that duck, just like she didn't give me the nightmares I'd been having.

None of that matters right now, though, unless I can make it funny. The crowd's starting to warm up, I think, so I'll try something I've been mulling over for the past week. "So, I know there are folks who think I might be a bit premature with this, but... fuck 'em. Right? I'm a comedian, there's no such thing as 'too soon' to an asshole like me. All this Bellwether shit. Yeah, anyone remember that? It was like, a little over a week ago, I know we've all slept since then, but it's the kinda thing we probably all remember, right? Good. I gotta tell you, I was _PISSED_ when all that shit about the conspiracy broke. Weren't you? You, sir, you were pissed. You look like you were pissed, yeah? Oh. Well fuck you too, buddy, you're at a comedy club and you sat close to the stage. What did you expect?"

I take a sip from my glass. "Now... I'm gonna come out and say, it's a good thing it was a conspiracy. Big relief, right? But the more I think about it, the more I wish it had actually been zombies. Listen to me, predators going savage is one thing, predators becoming zombies is totally different! Look at it this way, if it'd been zombies, _everyone_ would have been affected. Can you think of any better bonding experience for predator and prey than getting together and kicking zombie ass in the fucking apocalypse?" This bit is going over just about as well as the apocalypse. I need to change it.

I clear my throat. "Okay, that's no good, let's try something else. There was a commercial during all that mess, probably made it on the air for all of... two days, I'd guess. Anyone see it? If you haven't, I'll tell you all about it, and what it reveals about the _lie_ that this city is founded on. Okay, so there's these two rabbits, a guy and a girl, dressed like they just got out of a sock-hop and they're on their way to get a malt. Yeah, whoever wrote this commercial must have died of old age twenty years ago, so I don't know how it ended up on the air last week." Pause. A chuckle, maybe out of politeness rather than humor.

"Okay, these two rabbits are on a date, despite what's going on around town. So this commercial takes place both last week and sixty fucking years ago, going by their outfits. All of a sudden, this wild savage jumps out of the alley, like 'BLEEEEAAARGH!' and goes right for 'em. Dude tries to hit the savage predator, but he's a piece of shit, and he gets his ass kicked. Girl pulls out this - I'm not making this up - pulls out this can called _Savage Spray_. No shit. Because no matter what's happening in the world, someone's gotta make a fucking dollar off it, right? That's what this city is about. It's about tricking us regular fucks into thinking everything's okay and everyone loves each other so the rich fucks can play us against each other and make themselves fucking richer. Right?"

Another drink. Sweet, sweet wine... elixir of the gods, give me the gift of comedy or give me the gift of not remembering that I fucking bombed tonight. "Yeah. Savage Spray, real product. From the makers of Weasel Ward, which... who fucking knew that was a thing? Cheese and rice." I sigh. "Tell you the truth, though, that shit works. I mean holy shit, it works. I know, because I was the savage in that commercial, and whoever was in charge of props didn't PUT OUT THE FUCKING FAKE CAN." _There's_ the laughter! Physical pain is always a good bet. "Yeah. Put me the fuck out of commission for hours, but at least I couldn't feel the hangover. That was a great fucking day. My time's almost up, folks, but if any of you want to beat the shit out of me in the alley out back... you'll probably have to wait for the Commercial Actor's Union to get done with me, because they very understandably forbade any of their members to appear in that particular production."

 

Harry, Audra, and I walk away from Giggles & Co. as the sky brightens. Harry is the first to break the silence, if you ignore my constant and obnoxious sighing. "Well, that sucked." Harry's honest. I appreciate that about him, almost as much as his generosity.

"Everybody has off-nights." Audra shrugs. She's not wrong, but you can't have off-nights if you never have an on-night.

"Fuck 'em. If they didn't come there to laugh, why'd they come? It's not like there aren't cheaper drinks next door."

"It's cool man, it's part of the comedy racket. If you told those jokes as a waiter or something you'd have people falling out of their chairs, but since there's a mic in your hand, they just think you're an unfunny piece of shit. It's some kind of psychological shit, I swear." Harry's probably right, but fuck them anyway. They paid _money_ to sit there and make a conscious decision not to laugh, I'll talk shit if I want.

My phone signals a message, and I pull it from my bag with a sigh.

"Something up?"

"No, just the post office. Someone sent me something."

Audra cocks her head. "Any clue what?"

"Not really. Hopefully something good, though, the only ones who send me packages are my relatives." I tuck my phone back into my bag and look around, getting my bearings. "My post office isn't far from here, mind making a detour?"

Harry shakes his head. "Nah, we got time. You have a PO box?"

"Yeah. Forty bucks every six months to get all the junk mail I want," I snort. "Only reason I have it is because every bank and business flips their shit if you don't give them a mailing address."

Audra laughs. "I filled something the other day that had a space for a fax number. When's the last time anyone faxed anything?!"

Harry scratches his cheek, chuckling. "Well, you know, downtown they've got folks who deliver shit on bikes. I wouldn't be surprised to see a horse pulling a rickshaw, there's some weird shit in this town."

The three of us change course toward the post office, continuing our idle chatter. "What? No, I've never eaten a snake, it's too cold for snakes where I'm from! Ask Audie what they taste like, cheese and rice, how would I know?"

"Because you eat crazy shit!"

"Wait, what makes you think _I_ know what snakes taste like?"

I look to Harry, then Audra. "I figured, you know, mongoose."

"I'm not a mongoose. What the hell, I'm a beech marten!"

Harry starts laughing as I stammer, unable to deal with the fact that I've done to someone what everyone's done to me since I first left home. "Wait, you... I... goddamnit, seriously?"

She shrugs, nodding. "Yeah, I don't know where you got mongoose from. That's a new one."

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, it's not really a big deal for me. I don't get up in arms about it like some mammals."

"I'm sorry because _I'm_ one of those mammals. I'll get over it, but I still feel like an asshole."

Harry shakes his head. "You gotta lighten up, man. You take shit way too seriously."

 

Thankfully, the post office provides a break from my awkward wave of self-contempt. As can be expected this early in the morning, the place is a ghost town, with only one clerk working. A tired-looking bobcat stands up straight as we pass by. I pull the key from my bag and open the box, finding it packed full of ads, credit offers, scams... but no box. "Damnit. Probably behind the counter." We file back through the lobby and toward the counter. The bobcat again stands up straight as I climb the narrow steps up to her level. "Hi, I got a message that said a package arrived. Box 336E, name Reese Cadogan."

The clerk nods. "Oh yeah, just a minute." With that she disappears into a maze of shelves for a few minutes.

Harry pokes my shoulder. "If your folks sent it, what do you think it is?"

I shrug. "I don't know. A sweater, a little money, maybe a..."

The clerk sets a canteloupe-sized box on the counter, plastered all over with warning stickers.

"...maybe a _bomb_ from the looks of it, what the hell?"

The clerk shakes her head. "Those stickers aren't official, and the box came in regular shipping, so it's probably a joke. Sign here and you're good to go!"

I stare at the box as we leave, as though I might see through it if I try hard enough. Audra looks at it as well, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Okay, so you get a box with 'warning: hazardous chemicals' plastered all over it and you don't think it's weird?"

"Not really. It's got my grandad's name as the return address, the only reason I'd be careful is if he'd put the prank on the _inside_. This way, I know it's probably not gonna blow up when I open it."

"Blow up? Seriously?"

I roll my eyes. "No, dude, not like a bomb. Just a noisemaker. Simple things, you know?"

Audra shrugs. "Your grandpa pulls things like that a lot?"

"Yeah. Lundøye is about the most boring place in the world when you live there, so for most of his life he's tried to make it interesting. Sometimes he gets in trouble for it, but most folks agree it's better with him around."

Now safely inside Harry's apartment, I set the box in the middle of the floor and urge Audra and Harry to stand back.

"Wait dude, you said there probably wasn't a trick."

"Yeah, which is exactly what he'd want me to think. Just stand back, okay?" Carefully, I slit the tape with a claw, ready to duck the moment I hear a click, but nothing happens. Opening the flaps, I see a simple note lying on top of the contents, lamenting that my grandma forbade him from putting any tricks inside the package. I sigh in disappointment. I kind of wanted a trick. "All right, it's safe. Let's see what I've got."

They gather close as I pull out a thick wool sweater, hand-knit by the old lady herself, in understated geometric patterns. I wad it up and shove my snout into it, drawing a deep breath through my nose... oh, the smell of home. I never thought I'd miss that rock, but how wrong I was.

"Oh shit, that's nice," Audra chimes. "My mom never had time to knit, thanks to us kids... at least, that's what she said every chance she got."

I shrug. "I don't think I ever saw my gramma without needles in her paws, except when she was cooking. God, you wouldn't believe her cooking... you could probably go outside naked in the middle of winter and her food would keep you warm."

Harry laughs. "You ever try that?"

"Oh fuck no. She'd mount my head on the wall if I went outside without a sweater, much less _pants_." I set the sweater on the couch and return to the box. A bottle of local booze must be my dad's contribution. Always appreciate a free drink. "Nice. You guys ever try mead?"

Harry shakes his head. "Nah, too expensive."

Audra agrees. "Hell, real honey's too expensive sometimes. They get it for free from _bees_ , how is it so goddamn expensive?"

I shrug. "Yeah, everything here's fucking expensive. It's unbelievable."

Harry chuckles. "Why don't you make a MooTube channel, show folks how to live off the land?"

"Because I don't want to be the first mammal in a hundred years to be arrested for _poaching_ , that's why. I totally could, I just don't want to deal with the bullshit." I hand Audra the bottle and keep digging. Holy shit! I never thought I'd be so thrilled to get soap in my life! Real soap, good soap, stuff that won't leave my skin dry and my coat frizzy! "Oh thank god!"

Audra laughs. "Soap? You're losing your shit over soap?"

"I have sensitive skin and a REALLY thick coat. This is the best soap in the world! You watch, I'm gonna wash with this soap just once and you won't recognize me."

"We'd recognize you from a block away just from your angry-ass walk."

 

I give Harry a look and set the soap down. It doesn't look like there's anything else in the box, but it still feels like there's something inside. "Oh, that old fucker, I see what he's done." I pull up on the bottom flaps, revealing a false bottom inside the cardboard box. Probably explains some of the stickers and caution tape on the outside, he had to hide the joint! I move some packing paper out of the way to reveal a flat, shiny can with a bulging lid. "Oh shit. OH SHIT!" Harry and Audra see the bulge and take my exclamation as one of terror, diving away as I gently lift the can from its place.

"Dude, cover it back up! Whatever that is, I don't want it blowing up in here!"

"Chill, Harry, it's not a bomb. It's FISH."

Audra peeks out from behind a cushion. "Yeah, well you'd better do something with it, because that can's gone bad. I've never seen one bulge that bad and I used to stock shelves."

I shake my head, looking back to the can. "It's _supposed_ to look like this, that's how you know it's  _good!_ It's sour herring, you're gonna love this!" I head into the kitchen and start filling the sink. "Hey, where's the can opener?"

Harry stands well away. "You're opening that?! Dude, you eat some weird shit, but I'm not about to believe you eat cans of bad fish. That's fucked up."

"It's not bad, I told you, it's SUPPOSED to do this."

"Yeah, 'cuz it's gone bad!"

"Dude... just get me the can opener. And what's left of that onion, if it's still in there."

Harry hands me the can opener at arm's length, jumping away. I shake my head and put the can underwater, piercing the lid.

"So why are you opening it underwater?" A good question from Audra, rather than an assumption.

"Well, I'm not gonna lie to you guys, this stuff smells pretty strong. If I opened it in the air it'd spray all over and the smell could last for weeks."

Harry gestures wildly, exasperated. "Why's that, maybe because the shit's gone _bad?_ I've tried stuff from bulging cans before, man, you're not gonna get me with this!"

"It's not a trick, it's a real food! It doesn't even come from my home, we just make it there. Stop being a dick!" I look in the fridge, finding half of that red onion. It's a little dry now, but it'll work. "You liked the herring I pickled, right? Well this is like that, but stronger." I set out a few small pieces of fish on a paper plate, topping them with a little onion. I bring them over to Harry and Audra who both scramble away as the smell reaches them.

"DUDE, REALLY, THROW THAT AWAY."

"What the fuck! I'm trying to share with you assholes, and you're runing away?"

Audra hides behind Harry, sticking her head out. "We really appreciate it, Reese, but that stuff smells like fucking death, okay? Can you, like, open a window?"

I sigh. "Fine." I set my RARE DELICACIES on the table and go to open the window, whirling around as I hear Harry making a move toward them. "HEY! YOU PUT THAT TRASH CAN BACK!"

"AUDIE, GRAB THAT BROOM, WE GOTTA GET RID OF THIS."

I grab the plate and rush to the sink. Their next target is obviously the can itself, and I can't allow that. "Knock it off! Look, it doesn't taste like it smells, just give it a try!"

"I really hope it _doesn't_ taste like it smells, because the smell's making me want to barf and I'm a fucking _raccoon_ , dude! The shit's gone bad, and we're not gonna let you kill yourself by eating it!"

I stare at them and slowly shove a piece in my mouth.

"GET HIM WITH THE BROOM, DON'T LET HIM SWALLOW, HE'S GONNA DIE."

I jump onto the counter and swallow the mouthful, baring my teeth in defense of my fish. "LOOK, I'M FINE, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?"

Audra gets me across the head with the broom, knocking me onto the floor. "Sorry!"

Harry grabs the can from the counter and retches, dropping it. "Oh fuck, the smell is in my mouth! It's in my goddamn _mouth!_ "

I leap onto the counter and grab the can from where he's dropped it, running into the bathroom and locking the door. "Fuck you guys! I was gonna share, but I'll just eat it myself!"

"You better flush that shit!"

"Look, Reese, you probably shouldn't eat that stuff, but you _really_ shouldn't eat the whole can."

"You still don't believe me?! Look it up on MooTube, for fuck's sake! It's actual food!"

 

Several minutes later, Harry knocks on the door. "Okay, fine, we believe you now. I'm not gonna eat it, after watching those videos, but I'm not gonna make you throw it away."

"There's none left anyway." I open the door and push past Harry, holding the empty can. "I need a fucking drink."

Audra stays well back, covering her nose. "Yeah, I don't think you warned us enough about the smell of that. You seriously eat that stuff?"

"Yeah, I seriously eat this stuff. It's not the best thing in the world, but how would you feel if you hadn't had... I don't know, peanut butter for several years?"

Harry raises a finger. "Hey man, you can't go talkin' shit about my peanut butter like that."

"I'm not talking shit, I'm just making a comparison. Until recently I couldn't afford fish but maybe once a month, and I grew up on nothing _but_ fish."

Audra laughs. "Wait, you grew up in a fishing town, so why would you eat rotten fish when you have it fresh all the time?"

I shrug. "Variety, I guess? Why are there fifty kinds of bread in every sto-" I stop, seeing the plate still on the counter. I climb up to find two pieces of prepared herring, looking so cold and lonely without a mouth to eat them. "I think I know how you guys can make this up to me."

"Make what up? You got to eat your rotten fish."

"Yeah, but I didn't get to _enjoy_ it," I reply, hopping off the stool and bringing the plate to them. "Here, I'll even break it up so you don't have to eat very much. Aren't I nice?" Harry opens his mouth to say something, but the smell stops him in his tracks. "Really, it doesn't taste nearly how it smells, I promise. Just let me set this here..."

Audra throws her paws forward, gesturing at my phone. "You're gonna record this?!"

"You're goddamn right I'm gonna record this! And when I do, I'm gonna email it to my family so they can see what total wieners you guys are."

"Dude, you're such a dick."

"I've been working on that. I'm sure I get a cheat day, right? Open wide!" The only thing better than the fish in my mouth is the sound of their screams. Oh, if only I could make that my ringtone... _delicious_.


	15. Some Kind of White

"Back up, back up, back up... Harry, you're blocking the shot! Goddamn."

Gary's still dragging his feet on this MooTube thing, apparently, but Chet's not letting that stop him from recording whatever he damn well wants to. It's a quarter to two and, since none of us had anything better to do, we decided to have a little get-together: Chet, Harry, Norm, and yours truly. A little nip and a few drinks later, we're on a quest. Turns out the quest everyone else is on sounds like 'let's dare Reese to do shit when he's stoned.' MooTube is sure to love it, if their laughter is anything to go by.

I'm sure I'll laugh myself in time. I'll probably be pretty miffed for a while, though.

"Reese, you said you lived by a cliff, right? Can you climb rocks pretty good?" Harry asks only the hardest, straight-to-the-point questions. He should be on the news, getting to the bottom of shit every night. "Dude, you think you can climb this building?"

I sway a bit, adjusting my glasses. "I can kick this building's ass."

Norm and Harry cheer. "DUDE, if you climb to that third-story window, I'll buy you dinner."

Your average Reese is a hungry creature. Most small creatures have a high metabolic rate, and the Reese is no different; be warned, however, that if you feed a Reese, he may expect more, and follow you home and crash on your couch.

I hand my bag off to Harry and wipe my paws on my shirt, staring up at the building. Third-story window he says? No problem. The damn thing's made of bricks! At my size, that basically makes it a giant, shitty ladder. Still, I'm certainly not at 100% athletic ability tonight, so I'd better take this slow. I set my paws on a brick, getting a feel for it. Rough, solid. Good for climbing. My claws aren't killers like Chet's, but they're good at gripping, and away I go!

...Slowly, as I said. I need to make sure my footholds are secure. Chet can go ahead and speed this part up, it'll look funnier that way. Shit, this is... harder than I remember. I must be out of shape. I need to get my diet in order, more raw protein. Hit the gym a few days a week, maybe go swimming. God, I miss swimming! FUCK, I almost lose it as my foot slips. Get your shit together! You used to do this for fun, now you've got dinner riding on it! Man, I'm hungry.

Holy shit, this looked like much less of a climb from down there... I must be out of shape. Did I already think that? Must be true, then. So close now, just a little farther! I'm gonna take full advantage of this bet, make him buy me something I never get to have. Maybe real chicken! It's not as good as puffin, but at least you can find it in the stores. The city aviary has a puffin habitat, but I'm pretty sure they don't sell the birds. Morons. You'd think they don't want to make money or something.

 

I finally reach the window and hoist myself onto the sill, looking down to my friends. Damn, this feels a lot higher than I thought. I decide, wisely, to stop looking down and turn my attention to the window I'm leaning against. I wonder who lives here. Can't see much inside, with how dark it is, but I think I recognize some old fast-food wrappers. Why am I staring into someone's home? What kind of creep even does that? I turn away from the window and nearly jump out of my skin, coming face-to-face with a pigeon mean-mugging me from the other end of the sill. "Cheese and rice!"

"What's goin' on up there?" Harry calls, likely worried.

"There's... there's a pigeon up here. It's on a nest."

"Oh. Well jump down, we'll catch you, okay?"

I think for a moment. When was the last time I had fresh egg? Hell, when's the last time I had old egg? I may not have a chance like this for some time. Forgetting completely about the bet I've made, I begin thinking of ways to kick this hen off her nest. Pigeons are pushovers, I think... dumbest birds I've ever seen, in any case. How tough can this be?

"Dude, jump! Come on, what's taking you?"

"Hang on, I can take this bird."

"The fuck did you just say? Leave the fucking pigeon alone."

"Hang on, I said!" I stand up, shimmying toward the pigeon. I can hear my comrades in idiocy chattering down on the sidewalk, but I'm too focused to listen. "All right you feathery cockroach, we can do this two ways: you fuck off and let me at one of your eggs and I promise to leave the rest, or you can try to be brave and I'm taking all of 'em. You don't wanna fuck with me, bird, I'll rip your goddamn he-"

At this point, whoever lives in this apartment bangs on their window, scaring the pigeon into flight and costing me my balance. Flailing wildly, I try to stay up, but for nothing. I fall three floors, screaming, and land in Norm's cushioned paws.

Harry can hardly speak through laughter. "Dude, what is _wrong_ with you?! Leave the goddamn pigeon alone, you sick fuck, you can _buy_ eggs. And you won't catch a disease from store-bought, either."

I scramble around in Norm's grip, still a little freaked out from falling THREE STORIES. "GODDAMNIT, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! COME DOWN HERE AND GET A PIECE OF THIS!!" I shriek, shaking a fist at the window.

Norm laughs. "Mammal, you crazy. Chet, tell me you got all that!"

Chet is trying his best to hold the camera steady, biting his lip to hold back laughter. "Oh my god... oh my god, you better believe I got all that. Come on, we gotta get moving before someone catches us."

 

We set off as Harry continues his joking tirade. "I can't believe you were about to fight a pigeon, the trash can of the sky! Dude, what is with you and eggs?"

"Fuck you! Have you ever HAD eggs?! If you tasted a fresh one, you'd be fighting birds every evening for your breakfast!"

Norm laughs, and I grip his collar to avoid falling off his shoulder. He wipes a tear from his eye. "You're seriously insane, you know that? I mean, in a good way, but you are."

"How can he be insane in a _good_ way? Dude's gonna get himself banned from every city park for attacking the wildlife, man!"

I point at Harry. "Hey, don't forget you owe me dinner! Norm, where's the nearest grocery store?"

Norm shakes his head. "Man, he's right, you bet him dinner."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's see if Burrow's is open, they're right around here."

_Yes, that's right, folks! When you need groceries, think Burrow's! When you want the feeling of shopping at a locally-owned small grocer without any of the friendliness or knowledgeable staff, think Burrow's! When you want to piss away your money on substandard, overpriced goods under dingy, dim fluorescent lights that suck the soul from your body almost as quickly as the overbearing corporate mismanagement, think Burrow's! We're not coming to a neighborhood near you, because we already forced our way in and killed all the local businesses twenty years ago. So who else are you gonna go to, shithead? Come on down to Burrow's, we don't care if you don't, you can just starve!_

Harry shakes his head. "Dude, do you have to say that every time?"

I shrug. "What, I'm the only one who hates their commercials?" We make it to the store and it's the same as always, bleak. I don't think they've updated any of their signage in fifteen years, and I have the feeling these shelves weren't always such a dark, sickening beige. The cheap fluorescent lights seem to suck all the joy from the brightly-colored packages surrounding us.

Harry groans. "Man, I hate coming in here. It feels like every zombie movie ever, except after five minutes you want the zombies to get you, because you've lost the will to live."

Norm laughs. "You guys, seriously. I'd hate for you to see some of the real shitty places, like the 99-cent store or something. I bet you'd come out cryin', the way you bitch about Burrow's."

I climb down off Norm's shoulder and start looking along the shelves. Harry watches me carefully, probably hoping I'm not going for caviar or anything. As if they'd sell fucking caviar here! I should probably keep my eyes open, regardless. What's this, liver in a can? The hell is pate, some kind of bird? Whatever, it's only a few dollars. Moving on, I find a small bottle of cheap wine. Some kind of white. The cheap shit all tastes the same, they may as well just label it that way. 'Some kind of white.'

We pass the dairy section. "Woah, hey, slow down Reese, I'm not shelling out for cheese, if that's what you're going for."

I look at Harry, confused. "When do I ever eat cheese?"

He sighs, relieved. "Okay. Just... the real stuff can get expensive, is all. I've seen it priced like lobster."

"Wait, do they have lobster here?"

"NOPE. Sure don't."

"Relax, man, I can get that shit at work. I'm not in the mood for seafood anyway, I'm thinking more like..." I trail off, dropping the items in my arms. Oh sweet heavens... I've never seen so many eggs in one place. Maybe because I usually steer clear of the dairy section, with good reason. Shit doesn't agree with me. Why would they keep the eggs here, with all this worthless milk? I walk to the glass door slowly, pressing my paws and nose against the chilled surface. "I know what I want to eat."

 

We make our way back to Norm's, since it's both the closest and the largest of all our apartments. I think they've got something planned, but I'm still just inebriated enough to not care. I'm thinking about the feast I've got in store. A can of liver half the size of my head, a bottle of wine, and a half-dozen JUMBO eggs? I feel like a king! I really shouldn't have said that out loud, though, because Norm's idea of a royal throne turns out to be a high chair he keeps around for his nephew. "Dude, I don't fit in this. Will you put me back at the table?"

"Nah, man, you look so cute there. Chet, get the camera, you should record his special day!"

"Dude, I will _bite your ear off._ And you put that fucking bib down, Harry!" I climb out of the high chair and return to the table, to eat like the _grown man_ that I am. I yank the pull tab on the can and... sonofabitch, why won't... it... OPEN? I pry the lid off with the spoon and take a whiff. Yep, that's liver all right, but it's some kind of paste form I've never seen before. I look up, feeling watched. "Dude, are you really recording this?"

Chet giggles. "Yes."

"Why? I'm just eating, nobody's going to watch this."

"Maybe not without sound effects."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" I shake my head and try to ignore him. This stuff is just weird. Tastes good, though. I make a conscious effort to eat as boringly as possible, just to spite Chet. Try uploading _this_ , why don't you!

"Man, you're just messing with me, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"Harry, give him an egg. See what he does."

Harry nods, cracking an egg into a bowl and sliding it over.

"Man, I'm not even done with my liver, are you gonna..." I stop, staring at the egg. I don't know why. Maybe it's the yolk, so round, so glossy, staring back at me. Tempting me. Beckoning me. I've always had kind of a thing for eggs. Hell, back home, they were a special occasion! Only available for a few weeks out of the year, and holy HELL were they a chore to get ahold of. These guys, they grew up with year-round eggs available at the nearest store. They don't understand. Only you understand, egg. With your bright, delicious yolk, you're not just any old food, are you? No, of course not. You're not something to be taken for granted. You're the king! The crown jewel of deliciousness, so perfect and pure, so flawless and I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY LONGER, GET IN MY MOUTH!

One violent minute later, I find myself sitting very still and looking back at my friends. Drops of egg all over the table, egg soaking my face, my glasses covered in yolk...

Harry breaks the silence. "Dude, I think something's wrong with you."

I clear my throat. "That's silly, Harry. I just have a little egg on my face, that's all."


	16. Hold the Wasabi

God... I'm so tired of walking. Taking trains. Catching buses. Living my life according to too many schedules that aren't mine. I accept that I have to live with certain things like that, but I shouldn't have to leave an hour and a half early to make up for buses that arrive fifteen minutes late every time! I hate this city so much. I really, truly do, and the most infuriating thing about it is that nobody else understands that. They see some of its faults. The trash in the streets, the mismanaged public works, the crime, they know all of it and they don't like it. But they compartmentalize it. They keep it all separated in their minds, as if every problem exists in a vacuum, and they won't step back to see that it's all just one BIG, STEAMING TURD.

I had an audition today, at least. Some little off-off-Birdway theater troupe is trying to put together a show, some dusty old musical they pulled out of a neglected cabinet somewhere, and put out a call for whoever wanted to show up. I don't have high hopes. They're not organized enough to put on a puppet show, let alone a fucking _musical_. I check the time and sigh. Five hours, half of my night spent on this. Sometimes I really wonder why I keep going with this. Every audition I can find, and not one callback... and I've seen some horrible auditions. I have more talent in my left paw than some of these mammals, most of them twenty times my size! Cheese and rice.

At least I've got a paying gig tonight. It's not much, but it's money. Never heard of the place. "Poler Bears" is a weird name for a club, even ignoring the misspelling. What do I care? I'm getting paid. That's what I tell myself when the pained, twisted screams of my own ego drown out the outside world. All I know about the job is the pay, the reason, and the location. Twenty dollars. Employee birthday. Deep in the scuzziest part of Tundratown. Holy shit, I feel like it keeps getting colder the farther I go... I've either lost some of my tolerance or this area is _really fucking cold_.

I push the door - is every door here this stiff? - and step inside, shaking the snow off myself. Bit early in the morning for a club to be open, but really, what does it matter? Why should I care? I'm getting paid. Everything else is just details. I look around the entry and see a wolf on a stool, staring back at me. He seems confused.

"Hey, not to be a dick or anything, but I don't think this is your kinda club."

I blink, looking around. "Buddy, I don't care what kind of club this is, as long as the gig pays."

He bursts into laughter. " _Pays?!_ You mean you came in here looking for a job, and you don't know what kind of club this is? You're in for a bit of a shock, my man."

Is this guy stupid, high, or both? "Uh... I was asked to come. I'm a cl... I'm a comic. Name's Reese."

Realization spreads over his face. "Oh. OH, okay, cool! Sorry about that, I was expecting someone... uh, bigger. This place doesn't really cater towards..." he gestures with his paws, as if squashing a too-tall sandwich.

I nod. "Small mammals. The term you're looking for is small mammals."

"Yeah, I know some folks get upset about being called-"

"Yeah, and they're dumbasses. If they want to get upset about something, they should focus on what really matters, not the common figurative definitions of terms applied in a literal sense. If anything, they're just making it worse by being so petty about the word, you know? Anyway, who do I talk to? Anything you can tell me about the crowd?"

He sucks air through his teeth, wincing slightly. "You... know what kind of club this is, right?"

I shake my head, shuffling past him. Can't get a straight answer out of this fuck, I'll go find someone higher on the totem pole. "I already told you, I don't care what kind of cl-"

 

Okay. I kind of care what kind of club this is. It turns out the spelling on this place is completely intentional, and the employees and clientele definitely fit the figurative definition of 'bear.' Oh, for fuck's sake, I've agreed to perform at a bear cave. I'm surrounded by sweaty giants.

And yes, the smell is hard to handle.

A distinct, high-pitched laugh carries through the crowd. Norm. I duck between chairs, between feet, and quickly climb up his back.

"So I said to him, you better- ooh! OW! What the hell?! What's-"

I stand on Norm's shoulder, for once having the height advantage on him. "Dude. When you offered me this gig, don't you think you left a few things out?"

He laughs, nearly dislodging me from my perch. "Mammal, you never heard of Zoogle?! I know you had to look this place up for the address, did you seriously just stop reading at that point?"

I sit down and cover my face with my paws for a moment. I let them drop, taking a deep breath. "You said, _quote_ , 'just a little club in Tundratown, nothing out of the ordinary.' Is this your kind of ordinary? Because it's not mine, and I'm not comfortable around... dude, I don't want to get stepped on."

Norm and the others at his table laugh heartily, wiping tears from their eyes. Some of them think it was a big joke that he didn't tell me what kind of club this was, and knowing Norm, there may be some truth to that. He himself has to struggle to breathe before he answers me. "Oh... oh man, I thought you were gonna say something else, I'm sorry. You're nervous about getting _stepped on?_ "

I shrug, realizing what he thought I was might say. "Dude, I studied _theater_. I've been around gay mammals."

He just laughs again. I don't understand why, really. Does make me wonder what an audience of Norms would be like, though; I could answer simple questions and get a standing ovation. "You... you... goddamn, I'm gonna piss myself."

I don't think I've ever seen a creature that laughs as often as Norm. He's a good guy to know if you think you're unfunny. At least until you see him laughing at a stool that says 'do not stand.' Sometimes I wonder if he wakes up, looks at himself in the mirror, and just laughs for five or ten minutes to get his night started.

He catches his breath eventually and explains the situation. He himself doesn't come here often; it's not his kind of club either, but his cousin's the bartender, and it just so happens it's his cousin's birthday. So rather than stress about working (read: spend time not drinking and laughing), he offered me the gig. It's a lot more convoluted the way he describes it, but in the end it comes down to the fact that I need the money more than he does.

"Okay, I appreciate the gesture, but if you talked me up so much to the boss, why didn't you try to get me more than twenty dollars?"

He waves a paw. "Nah, guys here tip well. You gonna make out like a bandit, brother."

I sigh. "Fine, get me a couple drinks and let the manager know I'm here."

 

I can't fault Norm for his logic. By the end of my fifteen minutes, I was almost buried in cash. It's not a windfall - thirty dollars at the most - but the wad of ones is satisfying to stuff into my bag. I find my way back to Norm and climb onto a chair, barely peeking over the edge of the table.

"REESE! Seriously, you gotta drink more on stage. I can't believe you did that!"

"Yeah, well, when in Rome. Hold the chatter for a minute and give me the fish, I know it's here somewhere." Norm slides over a tray covered in some kind of round, green shit, to my great confusion. This isn't fish. Fish isn't that color. Not unless it's gone so bad that it's inedible even by my standards. "What is this? I asked for fish. I smell it, I know it's here."

"It's sushi, dude. Take a piece."

I jump a few times, trying to reach it without having to sit on- fuck it, I'm gonna climb up and sit on the table. Goddamn giants! I sit beside the tray and grab a piece, turning it over curiously.

"You never seen sushi before? I thought you was all about fish." Norm pops a piece into his mouth, chewing and swallowing it. I don't think I can do that. The roll is half the size of my head.

"This isn't fish. This is bullshit. What is that, rice?" I taste a few pieces, spitting them out. "It's not even good rice! What the fuck!" I pull it apart, laying the ingredients out before me. "That's... what the fuck is that? This is all plants. This fish- this isn't enough fish! This is nasty rice with a bit of fish to flavor it!"

Norm just laughs, sucking down piece after piece. "God DAMN you're picky! Look, that's cucumber, that's avocado, that's pickled radish, and this stuff is pickled ginger. You eat a little bit between pieces to cleanse your palate. Here's some wasabi too, it's real good shit. Just try it, you'll like it, man."

I spit again. It's bad enough this is mostly vegetables, but the taste of it all bleeds into the goddamn fish! "PLEASE tell me there's just some plain fish here. And what the hell is this green... wrapping? Plastic? Grass?"

"That's seaweed, dog."

I stare at Norm, unamused. "No, really, what is it?"

"It's seaweed! Motherfucker you eat seafood your whole life, and you never seen seaweed?"

"Of course I've _seen_ it, but who the fuck eats _seaweed?!_ Back home we _burn it_ , we'd never eat it even if we were starving!" Once again, my honesty is met with uproarious laughter from the great giggler. "What? I'm serious. It's the only thing we have that burns, that's all it's good for!"

"How the hell you burn seaweed, man?"

I shrug. "You want a history lesson, or you want to show me where the real food is?"

"Man, you mad when you hungry. There's more right there, more variety, too."

I hop to my feet and dash to the other trays. Rice... rice... all of this has fucking rice and seaweed on it! At least there's enough fish once I pull it out of its grainy prison. "Okay, the fish itself isn't bad. The rice gives it a weird taste, but the- is that roe?!" To be perfectly honest, I never thought I'd eat anything I found in a strip club. The few drinks I've had - none of which were small, since their smallest shot glasses are large by my standards - certainly help with that, but Tundratown is the place to go for seafood in this city, after all. I'm so preoccupied with sucking down fish eggs that I don't realize Norm's been recording me with his phone, giggling the whole time.

"Man, you gonna get sick eatin' like this. Where you puttin' all that?!"

I look at him, my glasses askew. "Dude, are you really recording this? Rude."

"Relax, I ain't gonna share it! I just wanna remember this."

"Then put your phone down and remember it! I don't want this ending up on MooTube."

"Mammal, are you still mad about that egg video?"

"You're DAMN RIGHT I'm still mad about that! I never said he could put that on the internet, I don't care how many views it's got!"

 

I shouldn't have said that. I really shouldn't have said that. Now I'm sitting on a table in a strip club, trying to hide my face from over a dozen mammals, all of whom are at least thirty times my size and some of whom are _nearly nude_ , as Norm shows them video proof that I am a living joke. It wouldn't be so bad if there were women among them. I mean, I have nothing against these guys; they definitely know how to have a good time, and I've found their compliments to be a nice ego boost, but couldn't Norm's cousin have worked at a club with woman strippers? Or hell, a club with woman patrons would work. Maybe I'd have taken off more than just my sweater.

Anyway. Rather than run away to wait for a bus or run away to hide under something, I decide to just eat. There's still plenty of fish and roe here to distract me from my feelings. At someone's suggestion, Norm plops a pad of rice and yellow stuff in front of me, wrapped in a belt of seaweed. Just as an aside, do other mammals really not understand the meaning of the name sea _weed?_ It's a weed, a worthless plant, other than as a fuel where there are no trees to be found. I look it over, poking the squishy yellow bit on top. "The hell is this?"

"Tamago, man. It's egg."

I turn my head slowly to glare at Norm as everyone around stifles laughter. "Really? After showing EVERYONE that video, you think I'm gonna cooperate with this?"

"Come on, Reese! Call it a peace offering, You gonna stay mad at me this long?"

"I'll stay mad as long as I want to. If you want to make a peace offering, you can buy me some fresh mackerel or-"

One of the spectators interrupts. "I'll pay twenty clams to see you eat that."

I recognize the voice. He's the guy who was yelling for me to 'show some fur' when I was on the stage. "Okay, hold on. Do you mean clams as in dollars, or clams as in clams? Because that's an important distinction to make."

Another patron offers twenty-five, but specifies dollars. Great. Now it's an auction, and everyone is bidding to see me... they're bidding to watch me eat an egg? Really? Cheese and rice, is this what passes for comedy in this town? These drunk fuckers are crazy. Norm's enjoying the whole thing, blabbering at high speed in imitation of an auctioneer, as I steadily resign myself to the fact that, while I don't enjoy this, I could really use the money. Did that guy just jump to eighty?! Son of a bitch, it looks like I'm eating this egg.

Norm looks at me, setting down a wad of bills from the 'winning bidder.' "You got a audience now, man. You gonna disappoint them? Look at their faces!"

I pull off my glasses and massage my brow. 'It's okay,' I think to myself, sighing. 'There are worse ways to make money.' "All right. Get rid of the plant matter, and give me the egg. Wait, give me the money first." I stuff the wad into my bag, barely able to close it anymore. Fuck, I bet I'll get mugged, now. Big bag like this, smaller guy like me... I'm a perfect fucking target, they'll think. Fuck 'em, I'll go down fighting. Knife in their guts will make anyone reconsider. I fucking hate this city.

Norm gingerly separates the egg from the worthless biomass surrouding it and lays it on a small plate in front of me. "All right, buddy! Go on!"

I sigh, fully aware of the half-dozen phones aimed at me right now. Bastards. Just for that, I'm gonna eat this as boringly as possible! Better if I had a knife and fork, but all I've got is a napkin. I take a small bite, chewing unexcitingly as the egg... oh, the flavor. The texture, the fat of the yolk, coating my tongue in a velvety hug. The beast within awakes, and my eyes roll back in my head as I devour the egg-slab, emerging quickly from the haze and realizing a new level of self-loathing.

"Okay, happy? If I find this on MooTube, I'm gonna fucking find whoever uploaded it and stomp your butt at the root."


	17. Cheap Sunglasses

It's so nice this time of year. The sun isn't hidden behind the clouds, the wind isn't as cold as usual, and the cliffs are the perfect spot to sit and watch the sea. I approach the edge and look down, wincing at the thought of falling. The rocks below are like daggers, sticking out of the water. Good thing this cliff is solid rock! No chance at all of it AH FUCK

I jerk awake in my seat, hyperventilating as I take in my surroundings. A tiny, shitty waiting room full of other mammals, all of them angry. A sow with a couple young piglets tries to calm them down, maybe stop them squealing before the wolf behind her loses his mind. He looks like I feel. I've got some words for whoever runs this fucking thieves' den of a company. Daylight hours only is fucking discriminatory, I don't care what anyone says. Nine in the morning to five at night, no less! Fucking BANKS are open longer than that! I look at my number and sigh. I got here ten minutes after they opened, and I'm stuck as number one hundred and twelve. I glance to the lit sign, trying to gauge my wait. Heh... heheh, sixty-nine. Nice. I must be losing my mind to laugh at that.

I spend most of my wait thinking of ways to keep my eyes open. Some of them are honestly horrible, and just reinforce my opinion that I should be asleep. I'd have to be insane to pull my eyelids open, stretch them over the edges of my glasses, and think that wouldn't send everyone fleeing from this room in horror. What the hell is taking that rhino so long? Your number comes up, you pay them their extortion money, and they're supposed to give you your shit back. Is he chatting with the clerk? And why are there only two fucking clerks?! They've got six desks along that wall, this is outrageous! Probably do it on purpose. Can't make as much profit if you're paying _workers_ , after all... fucking crooks. I'd like to know who in city hall made this fucking deal, I ought to gut them like a- no, no, you're just tired. Leave those thoughts alone. Just breathe.

I distract myself with practical thoughts. How long have they been open? How many numbers have they called? Going by that, when's a rough estimate of my number being called? Oh god, my head. Math is a strenuous task for me when I'm well-rested, to say the least. Fuck... okay. So many minutes... so many mammals... fuck, where was I? God, I fucking hate division! Even with a calculator I suck at this. I don't need math to write. I don't need math to ACT! Fucking math... fuck it, I'll just set an alarm for twenty minutes and fall the fuck asleep.

 

I rub my eyes, climbing onto the stepstool. I slide my ID onto the counter as the clerk types, not speaking a word. The doe glances at me briefly, still typing. Typing. Typing. No acknowledgement at all. I don't know if she's chewing gum or cud, but it's obnoxious. Almost as bad as her hair. That may be a little unfair... I hate everything this business stands for, but it's not her fault. The hair is her fault, though. That style was dead before I was born. I sigh, waiting for her to fucking SAY SOMETHING.

"Last name, sir."

"Uh, Cadogan. Reese."

"Vehicle."

"Van."

"Van?" she asks, actually turning away from her monitor.

"Yes, van. Fargo van. Says Fiskur Gunnar on the side."

She scowls. "Oh, _that_ one. Stinks like low tide."

I bite my tongue, not needing to make things worse. "...Yes, that's the one."

"I don't know how it smells like that, it's not got any fish in it. It's just disgusting."

I take a deep breath. "Well, it ran on fish oil for over forty years, I guess it just sticks." I'm not going to ask _how_ she knows there's no fish in it. I'm not going to ask. I'm not going to ask.

"Your total fee is three hundred seventy-two dollars and fifty-nine cents, sir. And try to get that thing out of here as quick as you can, it's been stinking the lot up since it got here."

 _Breathe. Breeeeeathe. Write the check. Stop shaking. Sign it._ I notice the 'memo' line. Yeah... yeah, that'll do... I'll just leave them a little note, let them know what I think of them and their 'business.' Not in any language they can read, though... this is just for me. "Okay, now which of you croo- I mean, where's my van?"

She caught that. I can tell from her look. Well, fucking DEAL with it, you're fucking criminal! She points me to a side door out of the waiting room, through which I find a parking garage. It's packed... filled almost to capacity, stuffed with every kind of vehicle from every kind of mammal, not one of which rightfully belongs here. How many mammals lost their jobs because they couldn't make it to work? How many mammals couldn't get their kits to a doctor's appointment? God, what a righteous prick I sound like right now. I sigh, looking down the row of cars in front of me. Not there. The other side of the aisle is the same. How do they tow these things in here? If I weren't so goddamn angry, I might like to see that.

How big is this goddamn garage?! I've made it to level three, and I still haven't found my van! These thieves must be rolling in city funds, though. The place is packed with vehicles of all sizes. Not a lot of new or nice ones, though... no surprise. More proof that the Zootopian dream is long dead. Being poor here is expensi- GET OFF THE SOAPBOX. Goddamnit, you're not a politician, you're not a philosopher. You're barely a poet! You're an actor, an unemployed one, but still a- YOU'RE A CLOWN. Wasting your life getting drunk enough to dance like a puppet in front of assholes you'd never speak to if you had the choice! And you thought you'd 'make it' here?! You ought to go back where you ca-

I stop and take a deep breath. Okay, Reese. You're angry. You're hungry. You're tired. Your mind is going off the deep end because of that, but there's no need to beat yourself up over trivia right now, you've won a battle today, and you should go rescue your van. Just clear your mind, open your eyes, and keep walking.

 

This garage, as it turns out, has seven levels, and I'm now on the sixth. It's pretty sparse now, with far more vacant spots than vehicles, but I still don't see... there. There, at the high end of the ramp, I see the big, blue-grey block that's been my home for what feels like a lifetime. My van! MY VAN! Mustering what little energy I have in me, and ignoring the few joyful tears that blur my vision, I jog over to it, grasping the bumper in my paws just to be sure it's not an illusion. The dull chrome and the thick, brushed-on paint seem to almost polish themselves as I get close, just as excited as I- oh man, it does smell a little fishy, I guess. Figure I was just used to it.

I climb up and open the door, hopping onto the driver's platform. I'm home... I'm free. Key in the ignition! It's time to say goodbye to this wretched automotive prison and... wait. I turn the key again, hearing nothing but a click from beneath me. Fuck... FUCK! Goddamn these assholes, the battery's gone dead! I beat my paws on the wheel in frustration, trying to think of a solution. Damnit... I'm not walking all the way back down there to ask for a jump. Not only would that take forever, the fuckers would probably _charge_ me for it. I don't need to deal with them anymore than I already have. Shit, I wish Norm were here, he'd surely be able to push-start...

Wait. _Wait_. I'm on a ramp. I may be on it sideways, but it's still a ramp. If I got it rolling downhill, it'd be the same as if someone were pushing. I can get out of here! I just need to figure this out. Parking brake's set. I grab the shift lever, jiggling it side-to-side. Neutral. Okay, how did we do it that one time... second gear, I think it was. The lever is stiff, but goes into its place. I grip the steering wheel and pull hard, straining against a vehicle that was never intended to be driven by someone my size. Grandad, the madman that he is, set about buying a van that would haul his catch and then worried about how he'd drive it. What he's passed down to me is a work-in-progress that's lasted fifty years, with such a unique control scheme that I'm not positive I could figure out a regular car if I had to. Ever the sailor, he figured he'd make the damn thing drive like his boat.

I grip the pins on the oversized wheel and heave it, panting now, to its farthest-right position. Good. Almost there. Just... oof, just need to catch my breath. All right. Throttle lever closed, clutch lever moves to released, and turn my attention to the parking brake. Okay, here goes... release the brake. For what feels like minutes, I can't feel even the slightest motion. Is it stuck? No, my stomach does a flip as the van begins to creep, at so painfully slow a pace. Fucking go time! I take two pins of the wheel and slowly pass them left, as I straighten my course. With the wheels moving, it's become easier to turn. Hopefully I can avoid any accidents in here.

I coast down the ramp, slowly gaining speed. Maybe it seemed steeper when I was walking. I'll need to get going faster before I drop the clutch. I heave the wheel to port- I mean left, and the van lists to the right as I make the turn to the other ramp. The speedometer, mechanical on so old a beast, ought to work perfectly right now, but I'm still not moving fast enough for it to even register. I gain another couple miles per hour on this ramp, and barely avoid the wall on the turn. FUCK I hate parking garages. Another ramp brings another couple miles per hour, and the speedometer needle begins to twitch. Almost there!

OH SHIT, A DEER! Not the one from earlier, this poor fucker's probably just another victim of corporate greed. At least he's quick to dodge, because I could have killed him if he hadn't. Cheese and rice, I need to get out of here. There are too many cars around me now, and although I'm barely at a jogging pace, it feels like I'm going much faster. I'll attribute that to the sleep deprivation, if I make it out of here alive. Shit, the cars are getting bigger, and the ceilings higher... the ramps are getting steeper! No time to dump the clutch on this one, so I fling the wheel left again, tires squealing as I try desperately to avoid a collision. Oh fuck oh fuck, don't roll over, DON'T ROLL OVER...

Oh god, where did so many mammals come from?! They're everywhere in here, looking for their cars, and not watching for nearly-out-of-control vans! SHIT! I can't take my paws off the wheel to let out on the clutch, because I have to dodge these assholes! Another turn. FUCK! I almost lost a mirror against the wall, and I think something fell down in the back! I have to be on level two now, there's no more time, no more chances after this! As soon as I see a clear course, I squeeze the lock on the clutch lever and pull it back. The entire van bucks as the engine is jerked into motion, and the telltale rumble-and-clatter of diesel ignition heralds my success. With a deep sigh I push the clutch back forward, feathering the brake with my other paw to reduce my speed. Oh thank the sea, I'm alive and my van is in one piece.

 

Everything's easier with the engine running. Now the power assist works: steering, braking, and shifting each have some way of benefiting from hydraulic assistance. Clever man, my grandad. Certifiably insane, but I never saw a thing he couldn't build. At our size, this van could easily be a two-story home, _with_ attic. Absolute madman. I drive through the city, back towards Pack Street, back towards a friendlier part of town. Too much traffic in the rest of the city, especially during the day. Goddamn it's bright. Fucking daywalkers. I swerve to avoid a negligent bull pulling out in front of me, and pull the chain for the horn. "LOOK OUT, YOU FUCKING SODSUCKER!" I scream, with no chance of him hearing me through the closed window, much less over what's essentially a foghorn.

Along the way I realize I should take a scenic route. The battery needs to charge, and a short trip to home territory won't manage that. May as well have some music, if I'm going out of my way. I flip the switch for the radio, trying to remember what station I last listened to. Eighties rock? You know what, I'm okay with that. It feels like it's been years since I sang along to something, and Stink is just the guy I'd like to hear right now. " _...Waiting for tomorrow, just another daaay. God bid yesterday goodbyyyyye... Bring on the night! I couldn't stand another hour of daylight. Bring on the night..._ "

CHEESE AND RICE! I sling the clutch lever forward and grip the brake, trying desperately to avoid the ASSHOLE who thought he'd merge with a hair's breadth to spare. What is WRONG with mammals today?! I huff, feathering the clutch and regaining speed. The diesel down below clatters happily, as though it'd missed running. I know I missed driving; this city isn't set up for walking. Damn urban planners spread everything out too much. I make a loop around the freeways, making sure the battery's well-charged, and pull off to a gas station. I may as well top up the tank, and I should check the tires, anyway.

I pull up alongside a pump and climb down, heading into the shop. Oh, great! There's a line. Twelve big, slow fucks between me and the only clerk. Is everything in this city understaffed? I sigh, rubbing my aching head. Too goddamn bright during the day, it's giving me a headache. I look around. Surely there's a rack of shitty sunglasses in here... bingo! Let me just look for some decent clip-ons and TWENTY DOLLARS?! I wanted shitty sunglasses, what the fuck! God, I hate this city!

Minutes pass. Hours. Days. Not really, but you get the idea. I'm finally next in line. Does everyone here fucking know each other, or something? Put your shit on the counter, remark on the weather, give the clerk your money, and FUCK OFF! I've been stuck facing the southbound end of a northbound musk ox (and my friends say I smell funky?) for too long. The rack of candy bars beside provides little distraction, and the cheap keychains opposite are all...

Oh... well, _hello_ there. I don't know if it's the exhaustion, the fumes, or my eternal starvation for romantic contact, but I've never seen anyone so... so captivating. She's a sight to behold. From the tip of her tail to the flower tucked behind an ear, from her colorful skirt to her playful wink... I'm staring. Her chocolate and caramel fur shines, so lustrous in the midday sun. Would a girl like her ever look twice at a guy like me? Would she ever hold me the way she holds that ukulele? My thought is interrupted by the clerk's greeting.

"Buddy? Hey, buddy, what can I get you?"

I shake my head, regaining what little composure I have left. "Oh. Uh, twenty-five dollars on pump seven." I glance her way. Should I? It's so impulsive. I don't know if I have it in me. Again, the clerk interrupts.

"Okay. Anything else?"

I take a deep breath and puff my chest. I'm going to go for it. "Yes. The otter hula-girl bobble."


	18. Presto!

Okay. Deep breath. This is it, this is the one, this will be the book that makes your name. You've been telling and retelling, writing and rewriting, planning and replanning this whole tale for as long as you've been able to talk. You know every act. You know every detail. You know every character intimately, some more so than you'd like, you are the _god_ of this world. Just close your eyes for a moment. Take a breath. Put your paws on the keyboard, and for FUCK'S SAKE, HOW CAN I BE STUCK ON THE INTRODUCTION?! I strike a paw against my forehead, pressing it there. A very long time ago... Is that the best I can do? You're not writing this for kits and cubs! Try something factual. _It was an age long forgotten..._

I sigh. I hate it. It's the best I've done all night, and I fucking hate it. A page or two of intensive worldbuilding of a world I've spent my _entire life_ dreaming up, and I get caught putting it into words? I let my paws fall to my sides. There's a possible antidote for this, but it's a risk. Getting caught with an open container in a motor vehicle isn't on my to-do list, but the damn thing's already open anyway, so as long as I'm not driving, who's to argue? Besides, it's pretty clear I live in this damn van. That makes it a motorhome, and they can't ticket you for drinking in a motorhome. I dig the bottle of Lundøye mead from its hiding place and say a silent prayer to Oden before I raise it to my lips...

A loud banging on the rear door interrupts me and I scream, fumbling the bottle but keeping it upright. With a relieved sigh I cork it and fix a contemptuous glare on the door. This had better be something important. Just got to... open... goddamn handle's stuck again, for fuck's sake! I reach for a wrench, a tire iron, anything I can pry with. Fucking... OPEN! Throwing my meager weight against the door, it finally opens, revealing Billie. She looks sour, as usual, due to an unfortunate genetic condition. Resting Bitch Face isn't really a medical term, but if the shoe fits, you know the rest. Doesn't help that she's almost perpetually in a bad mood. I blame her diet; too much fiber clogs you up.

"What."

"You're on in _five minutes,_ shithead. Or did you fucking forget?"

I blink slowly, thinking. Fuck. I forgot. "Yeah. I know that. I WAS just about to head in."

"Bullshit! Get your ass in there now, or I won't be sticking my neck out for you again. Try to do someone a favor..." she grumbles, turning toward the bar.

I lock up and hop out, following her in. 'Favor?' The fuck does she think this is, Birdway? It's a shitty bar in the shitty part of town. Just because she pours the drinks here doesn't put her in charge of entertainment, all she did was tell her boss my name. Could've sent Audie out to get me, at least that way the bar wouldn't be unmanned!

I've spent all ni- scratch that, I've _wasted_ all night trying to write this fucking book, and I've got a grand total of six words and some punctuation. Why do I bother? Nothing sells. Nothing! Not the short stories, not the poetry, not the collected folktales... never heard a fucking thing back about the screenplay or the stage scripts. Not even the kid's book! That's the truth about moving to the big city. "A vodka and a glass of red. Doesn't matter what kind, I'm not drinking it for pleasure." You work your ass off for years, _years,_ studying, honing your craft. Judging yourself more harshly than any professional critic, all in the name of bettering yourself. All in the name of art. All for the story that has to be told. And then you do it, you make it through to the other side, and move to the big city to find fame and fortune!

 

"...And it's BULLSHIT. Every waiter, every poor dumb fucker selling pants, ALL OF THEM are actors, writers, artists, and they're ALL here to find the fame and fortune you seek for yourself. Every last one has a _dream,_ a precious, big-city dream that's been inspired by every trite movie, every insipid fucking TV show, where the little nobody moves to the big city and makes it big. Do you know how many mammals move here and make it big? Fucking _none_ of them, that's how many. Because if there's one thing I've learned since coming here, success and fame isn't about what you know. You've heard the rest, but it's wrong, it's not who you know, either." I shake my head. "Nope. It's all about who you _blow_. You've either got to be born with fucking connections here, or you start suckin' dicks and diving for clams until you either make it or you're wrung out and left to dry like a used washcloth."

I pause to take a sip of wine. "With that in mind, though... I want to let you all know that I _do_ know a thing or two about diving for clams." Ah, there's the laughter. "No shit, I've been digging clams for about as long as I've been walking! Though we don't call them clams where I'm from. We call them- oh, I can't _believe_ you! What did you think I meant when I said 'clam diving?!' You dirty, filthy animals!" A simple misdirection. Not a great joke, but a decent response. " _Shame_ on you." Another sip. "No, I learned all about that kind of clam-diving in college, like everybody else. Not nearly so much experience there. I mean if you want seafood, yeah, hit- seriously, hit me up. But if you want to get between a girl's legs you're probably better off just giving her the seafood and hoping for the best."

"Yeah. Not a lot of luck on that front. For most of my life I've basically been vagina-repellent. Like when you try to push two magnets together. I grew up on a tiny bunch of islands where I was the weird kid. Not just geeky, book-reading, hang out with my grandpa's fishing buddies weird, I mean... well, look at me. I'm fucking red. You ever see a red fucking mink? No, you haven't. Not unless you've Zoogled me before tonight, and frankly, I don't know why the fuck you would have done that." I see a light come on. My ten minutes are up. "Anyway, that's all my time for now, I hope you have a great rest of your night, and please tip the bartender, even though she's a bitch. But before I go, your main event for the evening, The Amazing RANDO!!"

That ending went over well. Even Billie stopped pouring to laugh, though I expected as much. A bitch she may be, but she's self-aware, and she makes fun of it herself. I take what's left of my oversized wine and shuffle to a table in the back, where Audie's been watching. I take a seat and place my paws over my eyes, releasing a long-held sigh. "Please tell me I'm not the only poor fucker who's had to open for a fucking _magician_ in this town."

"There's worse, believe me. I watched Chet open for a guy whose schtick was 'grumpy clown.' However you imagine that act, I _promise_ you it was worse." She sips her own drink, wincing slightly as she watches The Amazing Rando take the stage. "Really though, why is this guy even doing comedy clubs? He's a way better magician than a comedian. His show would be ten times better if he kept his mouth shut."

"He'd probably make better money, too. Theaters charge more in admission than half-ass bars like this."

"Yeah they do. So what else have you been up to? You've got your fish job, and you do this. Oh, you're doing stuff with Chet's MooTube channel, right?"

I sigh. "Yeah. I've got a few sketches scripted, several more as ideas, but he's still trying to iron out a few things before any sketches get put out." His channel has a few videos where he explains what he's trying to do and what folks should expect. A bunch of mammals have subscribed, and even started giving him money on Paymeon.

What pisses me off about it is that the videos with the most hits are the ones I asked everyone not to upload.

 

Audie and I keep talking into dawn, until Billie kicks us out so she can clean up. I take my twenty dollars and finish my last free drink, and the two of us stagger toward the exit, leaning against each other and laughing at nothing. "...But then- but then he said, 'Well, Erlingr, if you didn't want it full of eels, you should have said so!"

Audie laughs, drunk off her ass, nearly tipping the two of us over. "I don't- what does that even _mean?_ "

I stifle a burp and steady us against a lightpost. God, it's getting bright out already? "Yeah, it's... you kinda have to know a lot about the culture to get that one. It's like, I never thought about it until I left, but everything... I mean everything relates to fish and shit. But that's, that's all that there is back home. Fish, and birds, and rocks." For being a head taller than me, she doesn't seem heavy. I've always been pretty sturdy, though, even after the half-starvation I've been living with in Zootopia.

"Okay, so I want to hear more about that. Tell me what it's like, and I'll tell you what's weird about it, just like how you rag on _my_ city all the time," she laughs, barely catching her breath to speak. She must just get this way when she's drunk; even now, I know I'm not this fucking funny.

"Uh, things like what?" I ask, nearly walking into a tree as I keep my blurred vision focused on my friend.

"How about that? What kind of trees are there? You don't have ginkgos like this, do you?"

"Trees? There aren't trees."

"The fuck? You're shitting me."

"I'm not shitting you, there are no trees. It's too- it's windy, see, and I mean WINDY. So even if you planted a tree, it'd blow over in a storm. It's too far from anywhere else for seeds to blow over, and seagulls don't carry seeds."

"Okay that's messed up. I fucking love trees, I can't even picture a place without trees, it sounds like a different planet. Is there grass or anything?"

"Yeah, there's grass. It's short, scrubby grass mostly, that isn't really good for much. None of the birds eat it, and it's the only plant that can handle the salt. The wind blows sea spray for miles. I've been splashed at the top of a fucking _cliff_." We reach my van and I try to unlock it, missing the hole a few times. Finally! Home at last. "Shit. You, uh... want me to walk you home, or something? I'd offer to drive you, but I'm shitfaced."

She stifles a laugh. "When Harry said you lived in the middle ages, I didn't know he meant chivalry and shit."

I need to take a moment to remember what exactly that is. "Oh shit, that's pretty good. But it's not a, I mean it's not any trouble."

She shakes her head. "Nah. I appreciate it, but I think Billie brought home a 'toy' from the bar. You got a free berth in this thing?"

I... just sort of freeze, my addled brain unable to comprehend her question. "Do I what?"

"Can I crash on a seat? I'm drunk as fuck, I'd rather not walk anywhere. Bunch of fucking creeps in this part of town."

I blink, turning this over and over in my head. I never considered having... well, company. For as long as I've had this van it's just been me, I've never had anyone else inside here, much less a _woman_. The whole arrangement pretty much comes with a vow of celibacy. I break out in laughter, startling her. "You mean... wait, you don't want to walk home because of creeps... Audie, I live in a van! I AM a creep!!"

She joins me in laughter, realizing the humor of the situation. Regardless, I climb in and offer her a hand up.

"Holy crap. It really _does_ smell like fish in here."

It's pretty spartan inside. There are two seats up front, but the rest is mostly empty aside from books, a hammock, and a couple loose cushions. I quietly try to hide a few empty tuna cans... and a 'recycled' bottle. "It, uh, the smell sticks after a few decades." Shit, if I'd known I was having company i might have cleaned or something. Who ever visits a van?

 

A couple hours pass and the alcohol wears off slightly. Very little light gets in past the makeshift curtains, but plenty for us to see by. I'm sure either of us would be just as happy to sleep, but we stay up, talking about nothing. I'm half-laying on a tattered cushion, my shoulders and head propped against a bundled stack of old notebooks. I drum my fingers against my belly as I try to think of an answer, while Audie watches me from what feels like an ever-shrinking distance beside me. "Well... doors are hard to come by. It's basically rocks and grass, so you'd basically think we live in holes in the ground."

"So like, were houses and buildings weird for you?"

"No, I mean... the scale took some getting used to. But we have books and pictures, even television. Just about everyone's got a shitty little windmill for power, I think when I left they were finally going to import a real one and wire all the islands to a real grid. Some kind of international development grant."

"Weird."

"Yeah, I guess. You grew up in the city, though?"

"Pretty much. One of the older suburbs, nothing real glamorous. Mom and dad worked, had a bunch of kits, just about as plain as it gets."

I look over to her. "Describe it."

She looks down at me in turn. "Huh?"

"What was it like being normal? I'm curious."

"I really don't know how to answer that. Describe what, being boring? Being tiny, what? It's just like every family sitcom except nothing funny or interesting happened."

"What kind of things did happen? I mean you had to have something to deal with."

"Well... there was a bunch of fighting. Two girls and a few boys in one house leads to that kind of thing. We'd hit each other, our parents would hit us to stop it, but it wasn't abusive."

"Did you have bullies?"

"Well yeah, everyone deals with that shit. Even bullies have bigger bullies, and the bully at the top of the bully hierarchy usually has a shit life to begin with, so nobody's safe. You just stick with your friends and family for backup."

I face forward again and sigh. "Sounds better than the alternative."

"You're an only child?"

I force a chuckle. "I'm an _accident_. My parents are different species, didn't I tell you that? They didn't think they could breed, so they were kinda surprised."

"Oh yeah, that's... yeah, I remember that now. How'd that go?"

"Well, I'm a bitter, miserable fuck, but I don't really blame them for that. I blame all the other kits my age, and _their_ parents. I spent most of my time with my grandpa and his fishing buddies, never really had any fr-"

 

A smell hits me like a punch in the nose, stopping me in my tracks. Wow, where did that... I mean, we're both pretty musky as far as mammals go, but this is... well, it's pretty distinct. I've completely lost my train of thought now, and I look over at Audie. Is she closer? "Hey, do you... do you smell something?"

She drums her paws on her knees, looking around at the ceiling. "Oh, uh... yeah, that's... sorry about that."

"I think it's getting kind of late. Do you want to just turn in, or something? You can try the hammock if you want, or the cushions can be-"

She looks at me. "Hey, you ever had a girlfriend or anything?"

I blink. "Uh... in college, yeah. Hung around for a while, but I drove her off by being an asshole."

"I'm sorry, I'm really bad at-"

"No, it's fine, it's not like it's a sensitive subject or anything."

"Yeah, I was just... wondering."

Several minutes of uncomfortable silence - probably thirty seconds, actually - pass. I clear my throat. "It, uh, is it kinda warm in here? How late is it?"

"Can I feel your fur?"

I cough, choking on my own stomach as it performs a flying trapeze act.

"Sorry... sorry, I'm really bad at..."

I wave a paw. "No, it's okay, I'm just... I mean, a girl talking to me is the last thing I expect, I live in a..."

"Yeah. Well, I'm..." she trails off, running a paw up and down my arm. "You're, uh... really plush."

I shudder slightly, feeling her grip and tug on my fur. Oh _duh,_ I'm having a dream! I fell asleep talking to her, and my brain's fucking with me. Still, this is a pretty good one so far. Much better than the recurring one where I'm chasing and eating folks. Whoever calls me and wakes me out of this one is getting my foot in their ass. I catch my breath. "Okay... uh, I just want to be sure of something before this goes any farther."

She pauses. "What's that?"

I take off my glasses. "Okay, poke me in the eye."

She blinks, staring at me. "Uhhhh, what?"

"Don't- this isn't some weird kink or anything, I just want to be sure I'm dreaming. You don't feel pain in dreams."

"That's cute, but yeah, you totally do. I've tried that before."

"One second." I pull out my phone and check my email. No... dreams don't have this kind of detail. I turn it off and set it aside slowly. "Is this really happening? Holy shit. No don't- don't touch me yet, just give me a moment. I don't want to, uh... oh fuck, I really can't believe this. I mean, I've tried to meet women, I've spent so much time at clubs and online, just trying to find someone to... but look at me, I live in a _van_. No woman wants to follow a guy to his van, it's ridiculous, and I'd convinced myself by now that anyone who'd be down for anything in my van would have such low standards that even I wouldn't want to-"

I feel two paws grab my cheeks and turn my head. Without wearing glasses she's not very clear to see, but I know I'm face-to-face with her. "Dude, stop."

It's hard to reply with her pressing my cheeks together, so I just kind of hum. "Mm-hm." The smell from both of us will take days to air out... meh, the fish smell will probably cover it by tomorrow.

I feel her breath, hot and wet against my nose. She kisses me, slowly, and apologizes. "Sorry, I really don't know how to flirt, or ask a guy out, or... I've never been the one to initiate."

I swallow, gathering my thoughts. "Well... I mean, you could probably pick better than _me_ , but-"

"Do you wanna shut up and eat me like an egg?"

I really need to kick Chet's ass for posting that video.


	19. 2 Hot 2 Handle

I yawn and stretch, twisting my back around in a way that scared the crap out of Harry the first time he saw it. Like a slinky with feet, is how he described it. I'm not special in that regard; every smaller mustelid can do that, and some of the medium ones. I sit up and rub my neck, cracking one eye open to have a look around. What little red light leaks in around the curtains tells me it's evening. God, my neck... must have slept on it funny. Why aren't I in my hammock? Sometimes you need a little restraint when you're sleeping, it can keep you from pulling something. That's advice you can take to the bank.

I close my eye squirm out from under the pile of laundry I'd been using as a blanket and start feeling around for my glasses, checking all the usual spots. Stack of notebooks, no... stack of reference books, no... stack of... what the heck is this? I don't own anything made of fabric this thin. I keep it in one paw and continue feeling around, my eyes still unwilling to acknowledge that I'm awake now. I stumble onto a cushion and catch myself, feeling something bounce beside the paw that caught me. Goddamnit, don't I know better than to leave these things where I'll step on them? Goddamn idiot. How much did you fucking drink last night, you lout?

I rub my eyes and put my glasses on. This mystery cloth feels soft against my face. Did I get ahold of a cloth napkin or something? That's handy, it just so happens I have to sneeze. Once my nose has settled, I sit down for a moment and let my eyes work themselves open. Did I sleep naked again? Damnit. At least I didn't wake up screaming, that's never any fun. Fucking Bellwether. Fucking acid... can a bad trip cause PTSD? Does anyone else still get daymares about going savage? I'll have to ask Harry about that. I smack my lips as I scratch my side. What the hell did I drink last night? God, I'm all sticky and my mouth tastes like... hmm. I wipe my mouth with the napkin and set my glasses on a safe surface before crawling back under the warm laundry heap. I don't have to work today. _Fuck_ waking up.

I sigh, curling up nice and cozy in my makeshift bed. Still warm... strangely warm, actually. I yawn and scooch backwards. It feels warmer over that way. _Really_ warm. I encounter something softer than cheap clothes, however, but I'll look into that later. For now, I'd rather sleep. Sweet sleep... I can almost feel its arms wrapping around me, caressing me and pulling me clo- wait, THESE ARMS AREN'T METAPHORICAL. I shoot out of the pile, shrieking like a trapped rabbit and scramble to find something heavy. Someone else screams almost immediately, crying out in shock.

"WOAH, WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?"

Fumbling blindly, I finally get my paws on something heavy: my degree, livingly encased in a solid, wooden frame. It's about time this fucking thing found a use. I whirl around, holding it high above my head. "B-BACK THE FUCK OFF, I'VE GOT A DEGREE!"

 

Silence follows. "...Wow, that's about the strangest sentence I've ever heard."

I squint, unconsciously inching my head closer to the stranger. "Wait... who's there?"

"Uh, me, I guess. What time is it? God, have you got any painkillers or something, or... wait, _Reese?_ "

I blink, lowering my certificate of unemployability slightly. "... _Audie?_ "

"Huh. Uh, nice anatomy."

I nearly jump, quickly hiding my undercarriage behind the frame. "Oh shit. Uh... hi. This isn't my usual show, but if youuu I don't think I'm going to finish that thought."

She tilts her head (I think), snickering quietly. "Well, uh, good evening. I guess we uh... feels like we had a pretty good morning, anyway."

My heart rate slows down from fight-or-flight and I breathe a sigh, partly of relief, partly of confusion. "I... yeah." I find my glasses and put them on, looking around for my own clothes. "I mean, you could do worse, but you specifically could probably do... better." I trail off slightly as I look up in time to see her pull on her underwear. If I could look any redder than I normally do, now would be the time to find out.

"So this is your van? It's _huge_ in here! I've looked at _apartments_ smaller than this, what are all these books?"

I snap out of my little... stare-fest, I guess, and pull on some clean boxers. "Those ones there are, uhhh... okay, those are stage plays. Completed, in progress, rough drafts, all of that, you... could probably figure that out on your own."

"And these?" she asks, pointing to another cardboard box as she continues to dress.

"Collected folktales, folk songs, translations, and stuff."

She looks at me. "You seem really nervous."

"Just 'seem?' You realize I've just woken up to something _completely_ unprecedented, right?"

She shrugs, and smiles. "Hey, we both needed that, right? And better someone you know than some weirdo off Timber or Camelslist. I always look at those sites and think... _yeah, I don't really wanna be killed today_."

I stifle a laugh. She's got a terrific bit about online dating, and now the whole thing's playing in my head along with the emerging memories of the morning. "Well... so, yeah, this is the place. Uh, if you're hungry, I've got a few cans of fish, some bottled water... you probably want to get home and take a shower, though."

She shakes her head, grimacing. " _God_ no... well I mean yes, about the shower, but I don't want to get into that apartment until after it's aired out. I don't know what the fuck Billie's into or if it's just some dingo thing, but after she brings someone home for the day the smell will knock you on your _ass_. I've got a locker at the gym for nights like this, so I guess head there."

I pull on a clean shirt, some band shirt Harry got for free that was too small for him. It's a bit baggy on me, but I'm not going for appearances tonight. "Okay, yeah, you mean Packer's? I know where that is." I shuffle up front and climb to the helm, coming back down for the key. "If you're hungry, theres-"

"Fish. You said that," she chuckles, following me up. "Okay what the heck is that? This thing steam powered or something?" she asks, pointing at the levers and gauges.

"No, diesel. Why?"

She motions again, with both paws, at the assortment of controls.

"Oh. No, that's just how grandpa worked out how to drive this goddamn thing. I mean, how's a mink supposed to reach the pedals? We've got short, little legs. And he was more used to boats anyway, so this felt more natural."

She gives an upward nod, incredulous. "Why didn't he just get a smaller van?"

"Well... the way he told me, he won it in a bet from a much bigger guy. I never pressed him for details." The engine clatters to life and I pull my pipe from my bag, giving it some time to warm up. If there's one thing I can say in favor of smoking a pipe, it's that the inconvenience of it has drastically cut my spending on the habit. I think they decided to raise the taxes on it again recently. Yeah, it's bad for you, but can't folks have a vice or two in this world?

 

I haven't been to the gym for a while. All right, let me rephrase that: I haven't _come to the gym to use the shower_ in a while. It's a mess here. Everything's been cleared out, wet paint signs are hung up everywhere, and the basketball court is destroyed. A sign at the door exhorts patrons for donations, with obvious urgency behind it. Still, it's nice that this area can maintain a few public accommodations despite its rough condition. I stuff some cash into the box as I pass, glancing around to see if anyone's around. No sign of anyone inside. They're probably all out back, where a helpful sign says the equipment has been moved. I don't even see that cute stoat who's usually got drinks and snacks.

Audie and I split up briefly to our respective locker rooms. It must be a slow day or a slow hour, because I've pretty much got the run of the room. There's an awfully large basin in one corner, with a rubber plug for the drain... dare I? No, there's no way I could go for a real swim in that thing. In an elephant's bathtub, sure, but not in a grizzly-sized sink. Besides, I don't know if Audie needs to be somewhere, so I should just be quick about this. Wait, is 'grizzly' a slur? Norm might know. He's not one, but he is a bear. If anyone would know, I figure it'd be him. Okay, stop going on tangents, stupid, go take a shower.

OW. Ah shit, what the hell? Where did I get all these scra- oh. Hm. I'm at once both annoyed at the wounds and somehow proud of them, but not in some sort of frat-asshole 'hur hur, just got laid, bro. Beer me!' way. I've been feeling a little strange lately, in a way that's honestly hard to describe. Something deep, deep down. Primal, perhaps. Maybe like the way a wolf has to join when they hear another howl, or a cat has to chase a small object moving away quickly. I wouldn't know. I'm neither of those things. Hell, depending on who you ask, I'm neither of plenty of things. I still have relatives who don't understand why my mom chose my dad, and don't agree with it.

I push those thoughts back into the dark hole in my mind where they belong and wrap up my shower, shaking the excess water off. No need to dwell on assholes, they'll be kicking themselves when I make it big and everyone starts Zoogling Lundøye. Fuckers. I grab a towel and dry off a bit more before putting my clothes back on, and head out to wait for- oh she's already done. How long was I stuck in my own head in there? I sigh, mentally chastising myself for wasting time. "Hey. Hope I didn't take too long."

"Nah, I just got out. Let's get some food, I'm starving."

I nod, but suddenly remember the scratches. "Sure. Uh, hang on, weird question. Did you find any, uh... scratches, or anything?"

Her eyes widen, almost humorously, and she laughs. "Oh, good, did I get my revenge?"

I blink. "Revenge?"

She snorts, laughing harder. "Yeah! I didn't find any scratches, but I found a few spots where I think you fricking _bit_ me, dude."

"WHAT? Oh fuck, I'm sorry, I don't know what the hell-"

"Hey relax, it wasn't hard. And we were crazy drunk anyway, but still, it's... I didn't take you for a freak like that," she adds, with a twisted grin.

I rub my brow for a moment. "I've really never bitten anyone that I know of, outside of a fight. That's something new." Cause for concern, maybe... the recurring dreams and the strange urges I've done my best to ignore - hell, not even acknowledge - feel a bit more real.

"Nahh, don't worry about it. Everyone's got a little weird in 'em. Now really, come on, I'm about to eat the next thing I see."

Good enough for me. If she's not big on the idea of fish for breakfast, we may as well try Bug Burga.

 

Traffic's light. All the mammals with lives, careers, and happiness in their lives are at work, I suppose. Audie's alternating between looking out the window and watching me drive. I don't think I've seen her so outgoing and... well, bubbly before, but I've never really hung out with her for so long alone. I wonder what she thinks of me, whether she's thinking something similar abou-

"You should have a little captain's hat or something to go with the ship's wheel."

Oh. I guess that's what she's thinking. I wonder if that's normal for her, or hell, if that's normal for everyone. How many other mammals spend every waking moment cynically picking everything apart in their head? That can't be healthy, but it's _my_ normal, and I haven't had a stroke yet. How bad can it be? I think Harry said the psychology school does something like the dental school, where you can pay twenty dollars for a student to work on you. ...You know what, I think I'd rather pay for someone who knows what they're doing. Did I just run a red light?

"...Uhh, you just ran a red light."

Damn. "Oh... sorry, I was thinking about, uh... something."

"Well that makes me feel safe." Her gaze snaps to a building along the road. "Oh shit! Fuck, I really should have thought of this before, um... hey, pull over for a minute."

Startled, I bring the vessel to starboard and park beside a meter. "What's wrong?"

She turns to face me, looking slightly concerned. "Okay, uh, weird question. Do you think you and me are..."

Wait, is this... is she asking me... oh fuck, keep yourself calm, you're just friends. Close friends, maybe. Don't freak out, nothing's wrong, you cerebral prick.

"Well, after hearing how _you_ were... uh, _made_ , do you think we're close enough to actually make anything, because we should probably stop by that clinic."

Oh... PHEW. That's not the question I was freaking out about, that's kind of a relief. The more I think about it, though, it's kind of a bummer, though; that's some serious shit that I've never had to worry about before. Until now, I've been pretty safe when it came to intimacy (as infrequently as that's happened), and generally sober, to boot. This question just makes me feel kind of crappy. She might feel worse, though.

I shake my head. "No, I don't think so, I think we're different... uh, I don't remember the word, but we're not close enough."

She breathes a sigh of relief, wiping her brow theatrically. "Whew! That's a relief. Thanks for stopping anyway, I really should have been more careful, I'm sorry."

I shrug. "Nah, don't beat yourself up, we were drunk, worse things happen all the time... but you really don't need to worry." I check the mirror and signal to turn back onto the street. "I really should have figured I don't have to worry about that anyway."

She cocks her head. "What's up?"

"It's not really a big deal, it's just... I've always been a little sensitive about what I am, I tried not to think about it too much."

She nods. "You mean a hybrid, right?"

I barely wince at the word anymore. I try not to let it have any power over me, despite the big 'H' on my ID. School wasn't a good time, not in the homogenous culture I grew up in. "Yeah, that's it. Everyone knows about mules and ligers, right? They're the 'cool' ones, got some stuff going for them." I pause to flip off some asshole who thinks I'm going too slow. Fucker, if you got somewhere to be, you should have left earlier. "I feel really weird talking about this. I really never have before, not even with my parents."

"Seriously? I'd figure they should have talked to you about it."

I shrug. "They didn't really know anything about it, either, and they were away working a lot of the time. Just as well I never wanted kits anyway, right?"

"...Wait, you're saying you're shooting blanks?"

"Wait, what the hell?" I laugh, smiling despite myself. "Is that a thing folks say?"

"What, 'shooting blanks?' Yeah!"

"Holy shit, that's the funniest thing I've heard all week! Why have I never heard that?"

 

Finally inside the Bug Burga, we sit in one of the few small booths with our meals. They're trying some new breakfast items, it seems, so they look like a good bet, at least at first.

I pull the sausage patties out of my sandwich, setting the buns aside. "Okay, so, I've just been talking about myself tonight, and not really asking any questions."

She finishes a bite of her sandwich and nods. "Okay, shoot."

Several moments pass as I struggle to settle on something. Fuck... did I have something in mind? I can't even remember. Too many things run through my mind, and a lot of them fall into the awkward/weird/why-would-you-ask-anyone-that-question category. "So, um... youuuu... like bread?"

She stares at me for a moment before fanning herself sarcastically. "Oh, _wow_. How did you keep the girls off of you in college?"

I force a smile, telling myself that there's humor to be found in this. I can feel my brain struggling, trying to chew itself free from the stem that attaches it to the rest of my body, but alas, it has no teeth. "I mean, you're, uh, omnivorous. Like Harry and Norm."

She shrugs. "I mean, yeah, I am. But a lot of actual carnivores eat bread these days. Fruits and vegetables, too. So I do like bread, yes."

I take a deep breath. "That's good, I mean, you can find something to eat pretty much anywhere."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is pretty convenient, I guess." She stares at me, as if expecting another question.

I didn't have another question lined up. I didn't even have a first question lined up. Think of something you dumbass, what did you take that improv class for if not for this? ...Oh, right, the credit hours. Fuck. "What did you study? Did you go to college?" Probably should have asked those in the opposite order, dumbass.

At least she doesn't seem to mind. Her eyes light up a little, as she begins to describe her college experience. "I was always kind of a goofy kit, and everyone figured I'd go into something like art or writing, but I tried that in the past and I thought it was just too strict, you know? They always wanted me to copy someone else, or to do it  _just like them_ , but I wanted to do it _my_ way. So I did the only sensible thing and went into electrical engineering," she says, with no small amount of sarcasm.

"You're shitting me."

"I swear to god! I had this whole obsession with electricity that started when I licked a fluorescent light bulb when I was six, and I always thought it was really mysterious and cool. Then when I started actually learning about it, I guess I kinda got bored with it... you know, like I'd pierced the veil and it was just another thing that we live with and pay no attention to because it's boring."

I blink. "Huh... yeah, that sounds pretty lame. What'd you do then?"

"Well, a friend of mine talked me into signing up for an improv class, and it was where I really belonged, so I switched majors and now I work for peanuts instead of having a job and a salary like a grown-up," she laughs. The truth only can't hurt you if you don't let it.

I chuckle, having nearly forgotten to eat my own breakfast. "Well... at least you're not alone in that, right?" The giggles die down a little and I take a bite of my "OH GOD, MY TONGUE." I drop the sausage patty and panic, looking for anything to stop the pain. I tear open a packet of powdered coffee creamer and dump it on my tongue as her reaction changes from shock to uncontrollable laughter.

"Oh my god, what are you doing? That's hilarious!"

"I think I got a whole fucking peppercorn, fuck that was hot. Goddamn..."

Her laughter quiets down a bit and she shakes her head. "Wow, you seriously eat the _nastiest_ fish I've ever smelled, but you can't take a little pepper?"

I go back to my breakfast, grumbling. "Not my fault I didn't grow up with imported seasonings."

She chuckles again. "That's kinda sad. Anyway, I heard of something going on down at the high school tonight, if you're interested. Some kind of pan-mustelid thing, what do you think?"

I shrug. "Eh... better than the nothing I had in mind. I'm game." This can only end well.


	20. Does It Hurt When I Do This

The high school isn't far from Bug Burga. Far enough that we don't want to walk, though; neither Audie or I have very long legs, and it'd take us a while. I've been grilling her the whole way about this... whatever it is. "So it's a mystery to you."

"Yeah, pretty much. Some guy handed me a flyer after a show, then just scrammed. Said some stuff about the political climate being primed for change, and public perception being... I don't remember. It was too wordy, and I was kinda drunk anyway. Seemed like a good idea, though. I'm sure we've both been called things."

I squint at the mirror, trying to park in the closest spot I could find. "Yeah... I'm sure we've been more than just _called_ things."

We disembark and make towards the school, finding low-standing signs pointing us toward an auditorium. Cheese and rice, this place is _huge_... how the hell would anyone our size even get around in here? What's that ceiling, three meters?

Audie notices me stargazing, but can't see what seems to be so interesting. "What are you looking at?"

I catch myself and look around a bit at my level. "Uh... nothing. Just looking around." Whatever auditorium we're headed to is probably bigger than the village I grew up in. What the hell. But I guess you have to design for the largest mammals in the place, after all. Three rows of lockers line each wall, increasing greatly in size with their altitude. The ceiling is some kind of... tile, I think, with little holes in it, and large yellow patches of varying sizes. I have no clue what the floor is. Looks like... gravel, but stuck in glass. Is this what schools look like in the rest of the world? "Do all schools feel this bleak and institutional, or just this one?"

Audie shrugs. "Older ones like this, I guess, but bleak? Really? You make it sound like a mental hospital in a Hedgecock movie. Hey! Lemme see yer hall pass, kid!" she jokes, mimicking a violin as she pretends to stab me.

I laugh. "I mean, it just looks like the place has seen better days, is all. The plaques up high on the wall are nice, though. Let you know there were other folks in the same halls, walking to the same rooms, probably bitching about the same math problems... it connects you to the past, see? I don't see enough of that in this city. Everyone's talking about today or tomorrow. Nobody talks about yesterday."

She rocks her head side-to-side, thinking about it. "I guess. But sometimes yesterday has a lot of baggage that you just don't want to deal with, so you focus on shit you have a chance at changing."

She's got a point.

 

We finally reach what appears to be a plain classroom, rather than an auditorium. The door's propped open, the lights are on, and it's packed - packed - with mammals. Ferrets, weasels, martens, otters... there are even a few wolverines in the back, and the odd badger throughout the crowd. Mustelids of every kind. In accordance with the source of our biological family name, the smell is significant. We manage to squeeze our way in, however, and find a spot where we can actually see what's going on.

Standing atop a wolf-sized desk at the front of the room, a least weasel in slacks and a sweater vest clears his throat authoritatively. It has little effect against the dull roar of the crowd, but he seems used to such things. "AH-AHEM!" He straightens his tie, takes a breath and smiles. "Good evening everyone, my name is Mr. MacNamara, and-" he chuckles to himself. "Aha, sorry, I'm so used to teaching, but this is less formal, isn't it? My name is Leonard MacNamara, and I thank you all for coming to this meeting. I'm sure you're all very curious about this, so how about we just get started?"

He pulls a small remote from his pocket and turns around, watching a projection screen unroll from above the whiteboard. The top-left corner of the board reads 'Social Studies' and 'Mr. MacNamara,' so I figure this is actually _his_ classroom. Maps line the walls, interspersed with old, worn posters that describe historical events. From the age of some of them, I feel they may be contemporary with their subjects.

"Ah! There we go." Leonard points the remote at a projector mounted overhead, then points it to the light switch and dims the room. Those motions are entirely unnecessary. It's a remote control, not a magic wand. "I would like to apologize about the room. I did try to reserve the auditorium, but there was a little bit of a snafu, and, well... here we are! But I want to thank you all again for coming, and I want to ask you something: do you feel respected?"

A murmur picks up among the crowd.  
  
"Respected?"  
  
"What does he mean?"  
  
"I don't feel respected."  
  
"Does he mean at work or at home?"  
  
"Maybe it's a trick question."  
  
"I'm hungry."

He presses a button on his remote and projects an image behind him, one that anyone in this room would be familiar with: an old cartoon of a sneaky weasel with his paw in another mammal's pocket. "Does this feel respectful?" He presses the button again, and another image replaces it, this one a still from an old movie where a badger is throwing a doe rabbit on a railroad track, laughing. "Maybe this one?" Another button press, another cartoon. Two grinning, sleazy-looking ferrets in suits, shaking paws to one another's faces, but each clutching a long knife behind his back. "You know, most mammals would be proud to have a lawyer in the family," he jokes, pressing the button again. This time a gasp passes through the room as we're treated to an old, pre-Byron poster of a sinister, drooling weasel tempting a sweet, young rabbit with candy as large block letters declare, "NOT BY MY BURROW! Vote "NO" on the Philips Housing Act, and keep our children SAFE!"

The crowd murmurs, and not happily. I can tell. I've been in front of enough crowds to know. Don't doubt me. Leonard steps forward on his makeshift stage and extends his arms in a shrug. "Unfair, to say the least, don't you think? Now I myself have had conversations on this topic with my colleagues here at the school, and out in various communities." He sighs. "Unfortunately, too many mammals I meet have the opinion that discrimination and specism is a thing of the past. Yes, even after the Bellwether conspiracy." He presses the button again and a few major-newspaper headlines fill the screen, warning of danger from predators. "And these aren't just op-eds! These are frontpage headlines, printed only _weeks_ ago, in the most forward-thinking city on the ­ _planet!_ "

"...But that's not _all_." He presses the button once again and the projection switches to a video of a dingy alley as the sun sets. A couple rabbits are walking toward the camera and...

 

...Oh no. I grip Audie by the shoulder and get my snout as close to her hear as I can. "We need to get _out_ of here," I hiss, enunciating so as to denote maximum urgency at minimum volume.

She gives me a dismissive look for an entire second before the audio starts. _It was sure nice to get out of the burrow for the evening, Billy._ "Ohhh... oh no, this is the thing, isn't it?" she whispers, as I grit my teeth and nod. "Uh, yeah. We gotta..."

We both look to the door. It's open, but we're in the middle of the crowd, as misfortune dictates. I pull my paws down my face, terrified that this may be my last night alive. Weasels, minks, stoats, polecats - we're not _savages_ , by any means, but what we are is _vicious_. Nature's perfect killing machine, capable of hunting and killing prey ten times our size with ease, according to fossil, archaeological, and literary evidence. We're good in a fight, is what I'm saying, and while I'm no stranger to a scrap, I don't like fighting and I _definitely_ don't like the idea of other weaseloids ripping my flesh.

 _All of that nonsense is just a bunch of... nonsense, nothing's gonna happen. Zootopia's the safest city in- BLAAAAARGH!_ The audio stops, and Leonard pauses the video on an intense close-up of me. We've just barely started pushing for the door, and I'm dead if I don't get out of here. "OH JEEZ, SILLY ME, DID I FEED THE PARKING METER? I'LL BE RIGHT BACK," I shout, as I throw all of my effort into leaping over as much of the crowd as I can. I don't make it very far, and I apologize to everyone I land on as I jump again and again. Hopefully none of them get a good enough look at me. But I can see the door coming closer, it's just right there, I'm almost safe, I'm ALMOST-

My final, desperate leap would have carried me well through the doorway if I hadn't impacted a mass of flesh wrapped in a track suit, bouncing off and falling to the floor like a long beanbag. Looking back, I see Audie push out of the crowd, all of whom are staring. Even Leonard, backlit by my warface, is staring. I take a deep breath and look up to see Fedor staring at me over his protruding gut, utter confusion on his face. "Reez! Where you running? This important meeting." He picks me up by my shirt with two fingers, prodding me back into the classroom. "Traffic lights make me late. Pah! Think they have it out for me."

Leonard clears his throat and regains the crowd's attention. "Ah, yes. As you all may know, this commercial aired for three days until the hoax was revealed, and the Weasel Ward company reported _running out of stock_ for both their standard and Savage Spray products." His tone and expression display absolute contempt as he speaks those words. "This commercial is the latest in a centuries-long campaign of prejudice that has fueled the oppression and scapegoating of most species of mustelid. For this reason, I urge all of us to work together to end this unjust treatment of all our kind and others." He presses his button once more and the screen lights up with the words _Coalition for the Reclamation and Advancement of Mustelid Perception._

Or CRAMP, for short. Audie and I are less able than others to keep our laughter subdued.

 

It takes a moment for the room to quiet down, but Leonard doesn't seem bothered. If anything, he looks proud. I can't be the only one curious about that. "Funny, right? Now, tell me how many of you are going to forget that acronym." Son of a bitch, I think he's on to something. He hops onto a stack of a few books, likely for effect. "But not ONLY memorable! It symbolizes both the soreness we feel as a marginalized group, _and_ the pain in the neck we can cause the powers that be if we organize! Mustelidae is the _largest_ family in the order Carnivora! Look around you. We are the _single_ most numerous family of predators, and more commonly discriminated against than larger species who can intimidate with their mere size."

He climbs down off his books. "Tell me. How many of you have been turned down for jobs because of distrust?" Quite a few heads nod, and a low murmur passes through the crowd. "How many of you have been followed by security from the moment you set foot inside a store?" If heads rattled, it'd sound like a den of snakes in here. "And how many of you have been charged extra on your rent just for how you SMELL?" A low roar erupts, and fists pump in the air.

"We can't help it!"

"Musk Mask isn't _that_ cheap!"

"I'm not getting _surgery_ for your _comfort!_ "

Various cries can be heard through the din. Leonard pushes a stack of clipboards off of the desk, and starts throwing armfuls of business cards. "Tell your friends! Tell _all_ your friends! We stand up not just for us, but for ALL predators! Put down your name, emails, and cell numbers on the clipboards. Take extra cards and hand them out! With all of us together, none of us will be stepped on again!"

Folks pass the clipboards around and exchange pawfuls of cards, eventually filtering out into the hall and leaving the building. Audie and I stay behind, just watching in a strange mix of hope and curiosity... but also a desire to wait out the traffic. Before long the shouted slogans die down in the distance and there are only five left in the room: Audra, myself, Leonard, Fedor, and a female wolverine. The latter squeals and rushes to the desk, picking Leonard up in what must be a well-practiced hug, since I didn't hear a crunch.

"Sweetie, that was _amazing!_ I can't believe it went so well, I was afraid nobody would show up, and we'd have made all these preparations for nothing, and-" She trails off, looking at the three of us in the corner. "...Oh, I'm sorry. I got a little excited."

Leonard pecks her on the cheek and she lowers him down on one paw. "Don't you apologize for anything, Martha, I could never have done this without you." He turns his attention to us and approaches, grinning widely in an adrenalin high. "So! I'm glad to see you stayed, you in particular seemed _pretty_ eager to cut out early," he adds, pointing to me in a friendly way. "What did you all think of it?"

Audie shrugs, smiling. "Well, it's really... I don't know why this didn't happen sooner, we really need this. I guess that whole thing with Bellwether showed just how bad it really is."

Leonard taps his temple with a finger. " _Exactly_. Every tragedy is something to learn from, and if you have a good plan, it can be just the catalyst to initiate great changes." He turns to Fedor and smiles as the older wolverine kisses Martha on the cheek.

"Marta, how you have been? Your mother say you working at radio station now, is pay good?"

Martha gives Fedor a hug. "Yeah, I'll be selling ad time. Still doing a little training, but it'll be better than Vole-Mart."

 

I notice that Leonard has been staring up at me for an uncomfortable amount of time. "Uh... is there something on my face?"

He cocks his head. "No, just... have we met before?"

I look up, thinking, until Audie elbows me and makes eyebrows at the projection screen. "OH. Shit, uh... that." I can hear her snickering. "I'm, uh, the... I'm the guy who..." Finding myself unable to admit it in words, I pull off my glasses and bare my teeth, staring down at him for a second before I sheepishly put them back on.

Leonard just stares for a moment, the only sound in the room coming from Fedor and Martha. "Well." He clasps his paws behind his back and looks up at me with a face that says 'I'm not angry, but I'm _very_ disappointed.' "I'm sure you had a very good reason. May I hear it?"

I swallow nervously and take a deep breath. "Okay, now, there are some circumstances that came into play. First off, they called me at like three in the afternoon and I was _really_ hung over. They didn't tell me - it was a studio who called me, obviously - and they didn't tell me a thing about it over the phone or when I even got there. They just whisked me in, threw a costume at me, had me jump out, and then they sprayed me with pure, concentrated evil."

He furrows his brow, curious. "They really _sprayed_ you with that?"

"Yeah, and it fucking HURT. Their prop guy put out the wrong can, and I still have nightmares about that shit, _god_ it burned so bad..."

"What did you get for that?"

"What?"

"What did you get. I'm assuming they paid you for this?"

"Oh. Yeah, they owned up to it a little and paid me two hundred, one for the ad and one for being an unwitting test subject. I _really needed_ that money, but it's not the kind of thing I'd sign up for again."

"Well, that does mitigate it somewhat to know that you suffered physically for such a portrayal. I was worried for a moment that I'd stumbled on a _collaborateur_ , if you will."

"A what?"

Audie leans in. "A traitor. You know, working with the enemy."

I shake my head. "Whoa, hey, that's going a little far, now."

Leonard nods in agreement. "Not literally, of course. We're not at war, we don't have 'enemies,' and violence is the _last_ thing we want; we need to show that we're _not_ wild animals, after all. What's your name?"

"Reese. Uh, Cadogan."

"It's nice to meet you. What do you do that got you a hundred ducks for a commercial?"

"Well, I'm... I'm a classically-trained actor, I figure they must have gotten ahold of my headshot."

His eyes light up a bit. "Really! You know, there might be a lot that you can do for CRAMP." (Audie and I have to try very hard not to giggle.) "Why, you're not only representative of the fact that weasels, er- I'm sorry, are you a weasel? I'm not sure."

"No, uh... pole- I mean, khonorik. I get all this from my dad," I add, waving my hand in front of my face to indicate my odd coloration.

Leonard blinks. "I don't believe I've heard of the species, but I don't need to hear another word. You're not any less one of us for it. As I was saying, you represent - as much as any of us, maybe even more - that mustelids are _just_ as civilized and genteel as any other mammal family in this city. If it came to it, would you be willing to put a little of that to work for this group?" He waves a paw speculatively. "This is obviously thinking way ahead, but I've had the idea for a little TV spot with several members of the organization just appearing, giving their name, a little about what they do, and then something like 'and I'm just like you.' Something simple but meaningful, you know?"

I shrug. "I mean, sure. If it helps."

"That's terrific! I'll be sure to let you know if it ever comes up. Out of curiosity, do you keep a pretty free schedule, how often are you working?"

"Uh... I work for Fedor here cleaning fish three days a week, and most mornings I'm performing in comedy clubs or hosting the open mic at Giggles & Company."

He looks confused all of a sudden. "Really? I'd have thought a classically-trained actor would be, you know, on stage, doing shows, bound for Birdway... is it just you, or is it that bad for everyone?"

"Oh, dude, if you go to a restaurant, you'll be waited on by an actor. The vast majority of them don't have a quarter of the credentials I do, every wannabe actor comes to this city and the competition will drive you fucking insane."

"Huh. Still, if you've got credentials, I'd think you could get something good, couldn't you?"

Audie laughs. "HAHA! He lives in a _van_ , dude!"

I poke her playfully in the side with a claw. "Didn't hear you complaining when you _woke up_ in it."


	21. Poached

Midday in the Pack Street neighborhood. It's quiet. You goddamn better believe it's quiet, because some folks around here get pretty cranky if you wake them out of a sound sleep, and a lot of them are way bigger than I am. Not a lot of police presence here, for better or worse; better in that I don't have to worry about a parking ticket, worse in that I have to keep an old harpoon out and ready in case of a break-in. Last idiot who tried that nearly got stuck like a mackerel. You don't fuck with a man's castle, especially if that castle has four wheels and is everything he's got. You'd be surprised at how brave a little adrenalin can get you.

That doesn't last long. I nearly peed myself as soon as he ran.

Anyhow. Midday. I'm in a deep sleep, the kind where you don't even dream. That deep, dark sleep where folks have a hard time telling if you're alive or not. My tail is hanging off one side of my hammock, my head and right arm off the other. My tongue sticks out slightly. I'll probably wake up with a weird taste in my mouth. Blech. Warm day today, too. Double blech. Have to brush myself every goddamn day just to keep my coat from getting too thick, or I'd probably catch on fucking fire. Why don't I just park in Tundratown during the day? I'm sure Fedor wouldn't mind if I used the loading dock, as long as I was out of the way when shipments came in. Of course, I'd probably have to dig out the battery blanket and find somewhere to plug it in. Always a goddamn cost to everything.

I yawn and stretch, rolling unconsciously in my sleep. Obviously, I'm in no state of mind to actively appreciate this, but I get so few opportunities for a good, restful sleep. Didn't go to sleep drunk, don't have anyone banging on my door, don't have anyone calling my... nope, just quiet. Peace and quiet, quiet and peace. A full day's rest, with absolutely no _BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMP_

OH GOD DAMMIT! Why the fuck did I chose a _foghorn_ for a fucking ringtone?! ...Oh, right, because it's one of the few sounds that can wake me from a dead sleep on the first try. I topple out of the hammock and land with a splat, naked, on the floor as I try to find my phone without opening my eyes. If I open my eyes, that means I'm actually awake, and it'll be harder to get back to sleep. I think I read that somewhere. I don't really get science, there's too much to worry about and as soon as I think I understand something they figure out that they were wrong about it. I'll worry about that shit when they get it settled, until then I guess my explanation will just be "trolls did it."

I find my phone and, feeling out which way is up, I swipe a finger across the screen in an attempt to answer. Success! It stopped ringing. I hold it to my face and answer very politely for this time of day. "WHAT?!"

A pause on the other end of the line. "Uh, hi. Is this Reese Cadogan?"

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Hi. I'm Amy with Chucklenuts Bar, Grill, and Comedy Revue. I know we've never worked with you in the past, but we're _really_ in a pinch right now, so we're kinda grasping at straws. Are you available tonight at nine PM?"

I pull my head back slightly. "Nine PM? Isn't that a bit _early_ for a show?" What the hell kind of club has shows in the PM?

"I'm sorry, the schedule's been set weeks ago, our opener bailed, and all our regulars are unavailable. We just _really_ need someone to do fifteen minutes, given the circumstances we're offering you one-fifty."

My eyes nearly open as my brow stretches my lids upward. One-fifty for a comic they've never seen, never worked with, and don't trust? They're either out of their minds or that tuna I ate for dinner was past its expiration date. Eh, what does it matter? "If you can do one-fifty and a bottle of honey wine, you've got yourself a deal, Amy."

Another pause. "Uhhhh... yeah, you know what, I think we can do that! So we'll see you tonight for the nine o'clock show?"

I shrug reflexively. "Sounds good to me. I'll see you then." I crack an eye open to end the call. Chucklenuts... it sounds a little familiar, but I know I've never been there. Hell, I don't think anyone I know has been there. After a moment's consideration, I decide to Zoogle the place. After some of the places I've performed in this town, I'm not going in uninformed again, not if I can help it. Chucklenuts... comedy... club. Pretty good reviews, a lot of decent comics on record, right near- what. What? I open both eyes and push my face almost against the screen to see more clearly.

 

This... this is a prey club. Not just a prey club, but seriously, a _prey_ club. Most of the acts (and, I assume, the patrons) are rodents, and they're _notoriously_ skittish around anything with pointy teeth, with some small-to-medium herbivores besides. How the fuck did they... what the hell is going on? Is this some kind of mammal-inclusion initiative, or did they... what the hell, they _must_ have looked me up, there's no way they just heard my name and offered me a hundred fifty ducks to open. I'd better call Harry.

Pick up... come on, pick up, you lump, I know you're just watching _Big Trouble In Little Rodentia_ or something. Pick up!

The ringing stops. "...Hello?"

"HARRY. Reese. What do you know about Chucklenuts?"

He's silent for a moment. "...Dude, it's like three PM."

"Yeah, I know. I got woken up by a phone call too."

Another long pause. Goddamn, was he actually asleep before five for once? "It's... I think it's just this side of Vole Gardens. Squirrel club. Like, total prey club. Why are you asking me this, man? I'm tryna sleep, what's this got to do with-"

"Because they're shit out of luck tonight, no openers available, and they offered me a hundred fifty to go on at nine."

"...Wait, what?! Dude, they're pulling your leg, there's no _way_ they'd have a predator in that club, they're like, squirrels and bunnies. They'd fucking trample each other running for the door."

"Man, I don't know either. All I want to know is if I'm dreaming this shit right now or not. What number am I thinking of?"

"...Uh, three."

"No. Green."

"That's not a number, dude."

"I _know_. And if this were a dream, you wouldn't have said that."

"...Makes sense, I guess. So what do you want from me?"

"Dude, I want you to record this, because it's going to be fucking unbelievable."

"All right, fuck yeah. What're you gonna do?"

"You remember that bit I've been working on? The one about the park?"

"...Holy fuck, don't do THAT. You'll get fucking SWAT called on you!"

"Yeah, and? That would be fucking hilarious. For one, if I do get arrested, I can ride the publicity of a false arrest based on species for months, maybe _years_. I could do so much with that. Even if they just kick me out, I can get material from it, and it'd be a huge early boost for CRAMP, and-"

"Oh, that thing you're in with Audie? I don't know, I mean, I _guess_. You're not gonna turn into some rabid activist, are you?"

"No, dude, it's not like _that_. Come on, you're more of an opportunist than an obligate carnivore like me, and you still get shit just for having pointed teeth. You know they don't treat us as equals." I hope I didn't piss him off with that. As far as I know, raccoons aren't known for being hunters; back in the old days they just ate whatever they could and thrived off it.

"Well, yeah. Yeah, you know what, fuck it. I'm game. We'll show up there and see if they let us in the door, and from there, it's gonna be a fucking adventure."

"Fuck yeah, dude. I'll see you later." I end the call and yawn. Perfect.

...I really don't know what the _fuck_ I'm doing.

 

I pick Harry up early in the evening. I managed to get a little sleep in despite my excitement, fortunately. I don't want to go into this tired; I'm gonna need all my faculties to pull this off. Well, most of my faculties. I'm gonna be drinking the whole time it's going down.

Okay, fine, I admit it. It's gonna take a shot or two of courage just to get on the stage, as always. Get off my back! You don't know me!

We park near the club and hop out of the van. Looking at the cars in the lot, I'm betting Harry is as big a mammal as this club regularly sees. Beavers or thereabouts. I stop outside the front door and take a deep breath, checking my phone. Twenty til nine. "You got your phone ready?"

"Huh? Yeah, I got it right here. You want me recording right now?"

I nod. "Sound, at least. If we get thrown out or something, I want to get it on tape for whatever civil rights suit comes later."

"You're fucking nuts, dude. They're not gonna kick us out."

"Just have it running, man. Maybe you're right, maybe nothing happens. Let's get this over with."

We pull the door open and saunter right in. The hostess, a grey squirrel with a hot pink streak in her hair, looks up and her eyes just about pop out of her head. "O-OH. Uh, hi, can... can I help you two?" I can see that she'd picked up a couple menus out of habit, and is trying to stuff them back into their slot secretly. My inner conspiracist says she's triggered a silent alarm as well, but my inner asshole says shut up.

"Yes! Yes you can," I reply, in as chipper and nonthreatening a tone as I can muster. "My name is Reese Cadogan, and I'm the opener tonight. Which way is the green room?"

I watch as her eyes widen even more and the life drains from her face. Her tail is twitching madly behind her in what must be a visual warning among squirrels. I don't know for sure, I've never looked up other species' distress calls. "You... but..."

I glance down at her nametag. Amy. "Oh, hey, we spoke on the phone! Good to see you!" I add, snatching her paw firmly in a friendly shake. "I gotta say, I'm really glad you guys called me. I love working new places, really helps me expand as an artist. Green room's through there?" I point to a random door, trying to keep her on the defensive.

She manages a response, though not to my question. "You're not a sheep?!" she blurts, pulling her paw back.

I'll be honest. This confuses me. "I'm not a what? Wait..." I look to Harry, who shrugs, then back to Amy. "Wait... you called me out of the blue because you thought I was a sheep? What made you think I was a sheep?!"

She blinks several times and tries to speak, eventually stammering, "Well, you... it... your name, it... we thought..."

Now it's my turn to blink. I tilt my head and stare at her, not sure whether I should be surprised, offended, or understanding. "What are you trying to say?"

"Y-you... you have a sheep name."

"What, Reese?"

"N-no, Ca... Cadogan."

"What the hell makes that a sheep's name? It's _Whalesh_ , my dad was from Whales. Yeah, there are sheep there, but they're not the _only_ mammals who live there!"

Harry lets out a quiet squeal, biting his lip and tearing up. Dear god, I hope he doesn't have a heart attack. I could never have imagined something like this. I'm sure I'll be laughing about this all night, but for right now it's honestly a little bit maddening.

Amy straightens up a bit and pulls her shoulders back authoritatively. "I'm sorry, there seems to have been a misunderstanding. We're very sorry to have brought you out here for nothing, but ou-"

I raise one paw, clapping the other one on top of her lectern. "I'm sorry, you're not backing out of this. It's in both of our interests that this happens, okay?"

She picks up a phone and practically chitters into it, almost faster than I can make out. "PaulthisisAmyatthefrontdeskIneedyouhereNOW." She roughly places the phone back on its cradle and flashes a quick, frightened smile as she waits. I roll my eyes, idly poking at something stuck in my molars with my tongue. Before long a large squirrel - not by much, and still barely my size - steps in and I swear his moustache nearly drops off his face.

"Can I... help you gentlemen?"

I smile, making sure to keep my lips closed. Prey seem to react badly when you show them fangs, even inadvertently. "Hey! I'm just trying to find the green room, I think we've only got fifteen minutes til the show starts, and your hostess here seems to have forgotten the directions."

I've never seen a squirrel turn white before, but if I shaved all this guy's fur off, I'm pretty sure he'd dazzle my eyes. He looks to Amy and back to me before he opens his mouth again. "I'm... sorry, sir, but... we... cannot... have you here, due to..."

I lean against the lectern. "Due to what? Look, man, I can go on stage and you'll probably never have to deal with me ever again, or - OR - you can kick me out of here and piss off your headliner, the entire stand-up community, and half the city."

Paul closes his eyes and breathes a long sigh. He points behind me. "Green room's down the hall." Holy shit, that worked.

I snatch his paw and give it a shake. " _Great_ to hear! Anything I should know about the crowd? Any words you'd like me not to say, any subjects to avoid? I can't promise I won't say all of those things _anyway_ , since comedians are basically children, but I'd like to know how mad I'm likely to make you in fifteen short minutes."

He shakes his head. "Just go on at nine, do your set, and get out."

 

I peek out from backstage. This is probably the nicest club I've ever seen, much less _performed_ in. Harry's in the back of the audience, ready to take this all down for posterity. The headliner isn't a bad guy as it turns out. He's far more upset at how they've dealt with me than he is about having a predator opening for him.

"Man, if I was you, I'd roast this place."

I nod. "Way ahead of you. I'm gonna turn this whole experience into a set, assuming the audience doesn't kill me after the shit I'm about to say."

He furrows his brow. "Just how bad do you intend to give it to 'em?"

I laugh. "As bad as I fucking can, man."

Amy's voice carries over the PA, announcing the show's start. I can almost hear her shaking through her voice. "Ladies and gentlemen... your opener for the evening, Re... Reese Cadogan."

I march onto the stage and grab the mic as I feel every breath stop and every asshole clench. "Thank you for coming! I cannot tell you all how thrilled I am to be here, and how _nice_ this place is. They had a nice little cage in back for me, with a water bowl and a _clean towel_ for me to sleep on! You know, most places just throw an old shirt in there and poke me out onto the stage with a stick." Silence. One chuckle, but I'm pretty sure it was Harry. "I'm not gonna lie to you, this is my first time performing in a prey club. I'm really happy for the opportunity, and for the alcohol I talked them into providing me. Would you believe they thought I was a sheep? Yeah, a sheep. You know, wooly things? Go _baaaaaa?_ " Harry laughs again, and nobody else.

"I don't know, I mean before I called up some comedian I'd never seen, I'd goddamn Zoogle them first, wouldn't you? _I_ Zoogled this place. I haven't done that before, but I really should have. I've performed in some pretty upsetting places. But this one is _nice_. I've never been FEARED before!" I take a long breath through my nose, close enough that they can hear it through the mic. "Because I can smell fear. It's true, ask anybody. I usually smell it on myself, but this is a real nice change of pa- HEY, where're you going? You, table of six, you _sneaky_ little rabbits! The show's just starting, what, did you leave the oven on? No? Well that's a little disrespectful. Not to me, I don't really care, but it's disrespectful to the guy you came to see. The guy you _paid_ to come and see, no less, so it's disrespectful of yourselves, and the hard-earned money you spent. Come on! Take a seat, you'll have a great time, I promise."

They leave. A couple other tables get the same idea. "Okay, now that I know the rest of you are _hardcore_ , let's get to the meat of it - oops, sorry, predator expression, I guess. TOTAL slip of the tongue. I'd like to tell you all about my very first day in your lovely city. Now for a little background, I come from a tiny village, on a tiny island, in a tiny archipelago way to the north. If you've ever heard of fairy tales, imagine that, except that it's cold and you're poor and it's boring. Basically the predator existence in this town, though I didn't know this when I first got here." Harry cackles in the back of the house. I can see heads turn around to look at him every time he does.

"You see, folks, I came here with a dream, just like everyone else. I'd never seen buildings this big, architecture so pretty and different, or any mammals larger than a caribou. I was so excited, I couldn't sleep. I was also so _hungry_ I couldn't sleep. See, I'd spent every last nickel getting here, and while I had a van to live in - _still do_ \- I didn't have any food. Not fun, right? Nobody likes to go hungry. So what I decided to do was take a walk, you know, maybe distract myself from the hunger pains. We've all been there. I came to one of the most beautiful public parks I'd ever seen, and I was _amazed_."

I take a sip of my drink. The glass is oversized, since they expected someone much bigger, but so is the bottle. I call that a win. "I didn't see anyone in this park going hungry. Quite the opposite, in fact. I saw squirrels, just like you, sir, and you, ma'am. Picnicking in the park, eating acorns fresh from the tree. I saw deer plucking apples from the trees, and snacking on them. Over in some bushes, I saw a sheep down on all fours and eating grass. No judgement, to each their own." I think I hear a chuckle from someone other than Harry.

"Now... what happened next was a bit of a misunderstanding. I saw all this happening - squirrels gathering nuts, deer eating apples - and I thought, 'what an amazing place, you can just go anywhere in this city and it will provide for you.' At least, that's what I _thought_. Place cleared out pretty quick when I tried to do just like everyone else. Apparently _pigeons_ aren't free like acorns and apples, and that's how I became the first mammal arrested for poaching in eighty-seven years. Isn't that some shit?!"


	22. Break In City

The pudgy cat waves a paw. "No, no, I've got this."

The wolf sighs and buries his face in a paw. "The manager's _right here_ with the keys. Can we please just let her open the case and get out of here?"

" _No_ , I said I've _got_ this! I'm gonna show you why they used to call me 'The Golden Claw' around places like this."

"See, _this_ is why they keep you on dispatch."

"Sshhh!" The machine moves gently, swinging very little under the officer's delicate control. Despite being years out of practice, he may still have the touch he so touts. "Just... about... _there_..." With barely a tap of the button, the machine whirs to life inside its case, lowering a gleaming, three-clawed hook towards its target. It snaps shut, its talons securely gripping the hem of a small shirt as it begins to retract from the pile of stuffed caricatures.

I stir as a disturbing dream takes hold of me. What's happening? Where am I? Who are all these other mammals around me, why's it so bright in- oh GOD NO, I'VE BEEN ABDUCTED! I can see giant, shadowy figures watching me from outside the specimen tank. "HELP! HELP!" My cries fall on deaf ears. The other victims, descending away below me, are frozen in terror with their eyes wide open and staring at our extraterrestrial captors. "YOU DON'T WANT ME, I'M ALL FUR AND BONES. I HAVEN'T GOT A BRAIN FOR YOU TO SUCK! I WENT TO ART SCHOOL FOR GOD'S SAKE!" The visitors' tractor beam positions me over a dark chute. "Oh no..." This is it. I'm never going to see my home planet again, and if I do, I'll be so mad no mammal will believe me. I'll be fodder for tabloids if anything, and not like celebrities or anything, I'll be in the _weird_ pages with the horoscopes and phony diet advice! "NO! NO PLEASE, NO!" My pleas fall on uncaring ears as I fall, screaming, into the void.

The chubby cat catches his prize and pulls it from the chute! "WOOO! First try! Told you, Wolford!"

The wolf rolls his eyes. "All right, fine, donuts are on me. Just don't break the bank, all right?"

The manager of the Steve & Hester's rolls her eyes. "Okay. Are you gonna get him out of here already? The lunch rush is almost here and I want him gone."

The wolf starts scribbling something on a notepad. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, we'll take care of 'im. Did you want to file a trespassing report while we're here? I thought I'd ask, since you could have just thrown him outside yourself."

She shrugs. The overstuffed cat coos and shooshes as I scream and flail in his arms, slowly coming down from the adrenalin rush. "Well, the night crew says the gang he comes through here with aren't cheapasses, so just... I don't know, just throw him in a drunk tank or something. Long as he's out of my hair."

In the blink of an eye, I find myself on the vinyl seat of a squad car, clutching my pounding head. "Hey, uh... pull over?"

The wolf glances over his shoulder, brow furrowed. "Pull over? Kit, this isn't a taxi, we're not gonna..."

"PULL OV- _HWAAAAAAAAAAARFFF_ "

The officer lets out a low, growling sigh. "Oh God _damnit_."

 

I really wish I could sleep this off. I need sleep, I need water, I need vitamins, but I'm stuck in a sour-smelling, tiled room with a bunch of noisy drunks. There'll be no sleeping this off. Not here, anyway. I poke my head through the bars and squint down the hall at what I think is an officer. "HEY! Don't I get a phone call or something?" I slur, nearly falling forwards.

"Shut up and get back in the tank."

"Well give me my phone and I'll call for a ride myself!"

"Get back in the tank!"

Goddamn pig. I don't mean that in a specist way. She is a pig, but she's also a _pig_. A pig that's a pig. You'd think she'd choose a less ironic occupation. I sigh, rubbing my eyes. "Can I please have my belt and my glasses, at least?"

"Rules."

I take a deep breath. Rules mean nothing in this city. "For the love of... look, I can fit through these bars and set you on a wild goose chase. Would you prefer that, or letting me make a phone call?"

"I will lock you in a file cabinet if you don't shut up."

Some commotion from outside the hall catches my ear. Muffled conversation, slightly raised voices. I shut my eyes and stick my head out, trying to catch any of it on the off-chance it may be interesting.

"Hey, this is ZPD headquarters, not some little station you can just walk into here and-"

" _Zatknis'!_ I pay you already, what more you want?"

Wait, I know that growl. I wiggle a shoulder past the bars, pulling an arm through and cupping a paw to my ear.

"Sir, I should remind you that you're a little out of your territory. You're just gonna have to wait out here and-"

The door bursts open, and a track-suited foot withdraws past the frame. Panicking, I squeeze myself back into the drunk tank and sit still as though I've been behaving myself.

I watch as two forms approach the bars and stop, one of them unlocking the door. It swings open and a scratchy, gravely voice I know well calls to me. "Reez. Come out of cell."

Not wanting to argue, I rise to my feet and shuffle to the open door, eyes nearly shut. "Uh... thanks, Fedor, I swear this isn't-"

"Shut up. Come."

Faster than I would have expected, my things are returned to me: my phone, my bag, my glasses, and my belt. I follow Fedor outside to the parking lot, hissing as the full force of daylight hits my eyes. My savior laughs. "Bright for you, eh? Come. I have what you need." He leads me past rows of large cars, eventually stopping at a tiny beater with flat sides and windows. I stare for a moment, wondering about few things. Can his connections not afford him something better? Does the country this was made in still exist? How does he fit in this tiny thing? My thoughts are cut short. "Why you staring? Is not spaceship, is car. Get in."

I sit on the front bench beside Fedor. The seatbelt in this thing lays across my lap like a nylon blanket, but if we get in a crash, I probably don't have to worry about that. I'm sure we'd never survive the explosion. I would never have thought he'd squeeze in here, but he did, and the wheel nearly rubs against his gut as he starts it up and pulls out a hip flask. "Here," he commands, nearly shoving it in my lap. "Remember what say? Hangover's mortal enemy. Drink." You know, if he hadn't just waltzed in and sprung me from the goddamn police station, I'd say something about open containers. But to be honest I'll do anything to ease this pounding in my head. I take a long sip from the flask and hand it back, watching him do the same before he replaces the cap and slides it back into its home. And with that, we're off.

 

I drum my paws on my lap as we putter through the city, high buildings passing slowly by from my low vantage point. I clear my throat. "Um... I don't want to seem ungrateful or anything, but I mean, why'd you show up to get me out? And more importantly, how'd you know?"

Fedor glances down at me and chuckles. "Answer to second question is connections. Answer to first is you have work to do. You don't think you get time off for being arrested, eh? Very special order came in today. Need your little paws busy, not locked up."

I raise an eyebrow. "Special order? Special how?"

"Special like 'no questions' special. This very expensive order for man with very expensive tastes."

I blink, looking around at the beaten, tiny car we're riding in. "Is this... a regular customer?"

He nods. "He good customer. Make order like this couple months. Something, eh, cultural maybe."

"Good customer, regular customer, more money than I should know about... so why are you driving _this?_ "

Fedor laughs, shaking the car. "That good one, first joke you make me laugh with." He quiets down, wiping away a tear. "This solid, reliable car. Anything break, you fix it like this-!" he explains, slamming a fist on the dashboard. No sooner than he does that, the thing feels like it's gained ten horsepower. Wait, is horsepower specist? Sounds kinda slavery... slave... slavery-ish. Is that a word? I'll have to ask Harry about this if I remember to.

After a long drive, we reach the shop. The car rocks as Fedor exits and waddles around to the trunk, from which he pulls a large aluminum case. "Still warm. Move butt, work to do!"

Oh... so when he says today, he means _today_. I breathe a tired sigh, following him inside. No mobsters playing cards in the corner. The place feels so deserted without them, not to mention bright. The lights aren't even on. It's just the cursed sun coming in through the windows. I keep pace behind Fedor despite my tiny legs. All that bulk slows him down, to say nothing of the case. He pushes through the swinging door into the back and sets it gently beside my work table. "You know what to do." He squats down, meeting me at eye level. "But be very careful. These fish worth more than comedy kit make all year, eh?"

I shrug, massaging a temple to try to abate my headache. "Uh, you might want to be a little more specific because that's not a lot of money."

He stifles a chuckle. "Okay. If screw up, Fedor can't guarantee fish job be here for you. _Buuuut_ you don't have to worry, don't need job when freeze to death." He rises, patting me on the back as he heads back up front. "There wooden box filled with fresh snow beside table. Cleaned fish go in box, I take to customer when done. Go to work, and be quiet. I sleep upstairs."

I stare, motionless, at the case as he leaves. Shit. Granted, I can clean a fish - if I had to pick something I could do to save my life, it'd be that. But I'm not sober, I'm hungover, and I'm exhausted, none of which are conducive to using a knife. Fuck. I might die before this day is over. That's cool.

 

I take a moment to collect myself and settle my nerves. There's vodka around, which isn't really what I need, but it helps for now. I really ought to cut back on drinking. It may not kill me today, but it will eventually. This fucking city... you know what, maybe I shouldn't blame it all on the city. I came here with a lot of preconceived notions, and I've been upset ever since I arrived that it hasn't lived up to my expectations. But this city is a _vast_ , sprawling organism that was here long before I was and will continue to exist for long after I'm gone, and there's far more that affects it on a daily basis than I could hope to comprehend. Is it the city I hate, or is it me that I hate? Why should it conform to my worldview? Maybe I should give it a second chance...

...No, I think I just hate this place. Sure, you can find anything you want and some things you didn't know about along the way, but I fucking hate this city. Too many mammals, too much trash, and most folks you'll run across are trying to get into your pocket any way they can.

I turn on my small space heater and get my knives out, checking them over. Sharp enough to split a hair, and clean enough to eat off of. I sometimes do. With my tools at my fingertips, it's time to see what I'm working with, so let's open th-

What the _fuck_ is this? I've never seen fish like these except in pictures. At least a dozen brightly-colored fish, the largest of which is a gargantuan five centimeters, are swimming around in this case. They're so vivid and cheery, with their colors all bright and flashy... I hate them already. But while I've had a shit day so far, at least I know theirs will be _worse_. I suppose just a possibility of death isn't so bad when compared to a guarantee. I reach in slowly and grab... wait... sonofabitch, these little fuckers are quick. Well, let's see how you swim when you've got no water! Just need something to bail this out, where's a clean gut bucket...

As I walk away, I hear a thud from the far back of the storeroom. "Goddamnit, _now_ what?" I ask myself, thinking one of the mackerel fell off its hook again. Fucking mackerel... what is it about them that causes that? Every other fish in here, once it's on the hook, it's on the hook. You never see a _haddock_ rip free from its hook, and they're twice the size! I shiver slightly, leaving the warm work area. I should just keep a sweater here in case this happens again. Goddamn mackerel, slippery motherfu-

Okay, another thump, and that was not a haddock, much less a mackerel. I don't think we regularly stock any fish that could make a sound like that. My whiskers twitch and I slowly turn my gaze to the loading door. Oh shit, someone's out there. I can hear voices. I scramble into a rack of trout and hide as the door is ripped from the wall.

"OKAY, cheese and crackers, you don't need to wake up the whole district!"

"Don't know why they let him drive the truck..."

"Shut up. We probably have less time now. Look for the shit."

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. It's a robbery. It's a fucking robbery, with robbers coming into a mob-controlled business, and stealing... oh fuck, they're going to steal those disgusting colorful fish, and I'm going to be murdered for it! FUCK! Who the fuck do these assholes think they are?! Sons of bitches, if they were my size, I'd... oh cheese and rice...

 

They're not my size. Not even close. A wolf, a snow leopard, and a boar come through the door, pointing flashlights everywhere. The boar sniffs the air, grunting. "Think someone's been here recently."

The leopard rolls her eyes. "No _shit_ , Sherlock. Shit like this has to be kept fresh, there's probably someone here now just about to cut 'em up. Or there was until fucking leadfoot here knocked the fucking wall down!"

The wolf snarls. "Shut the fuck up. Look at how this place is built. It's a fucking fortress, you think this guy's just some two-bit fishmonger? That door was a-"

"You know we brought that truck because of the super-low gear, right? Pulls shit off slowly and smoothly. Key word SMOO-"

The boar snorts at the bickering duo. "Shut the fuck up! You go that way, you go that way, and don't say a _fucking thing_ until you find what we're here for!" With that, they grumble and set off through the darkened storeroom.

Oh fuck. Oh shit. I need to get to those fish and I need to hide them. Fuck, they're going to see me, unless- I notice a whole brown trout hanging beside me, decently sized for its species. More importantly, decently sized for a disguise. I grip the two halves of its split belly and pull, spreading it open enough to cram myself inside. Releasing it from its hook, I pull it around me and fall on my face. FUCKING FISHTAIL, am I gonna have to all-fours this?

The leopard calls out. "Hey. What was that noise?"

"Probably nothing. Sounded like a mackerel," replies the wolf.

"Well aren't you gonna check it out?"

"I'm fucking looking for something, remember?"

She sighs. "Cheese and crackers, I have to do everything for you two. Fine, _I'll_ check it out."

Oh fuck, she's coming. Got to scamper, got to get to the fish. I drop on my side when she gets close, belly facing away.

I hear her snort. "Fucking trout fell off its hook." I hear her footsteps leave, growing faint as she heads down the aisle.

Okay, back onto my paws and feet. Shit, this is cold... should never have gone out without a sweater. Grandma always told me to put on a sweater. Doesn't make as much sense here where it's too goddamn warm for one, but she's still in my head, nagging me from half a world away. I scamper across another aisle, freezing as a flashlight beam locks on me.

"What the fuck..."

I turn my head slowly, my trout-suit flexing somewhat as I peek through its open mouth. The wolf stares at me, blinking, perhaps reconsidering a youth spent inhaling various household chemicals for pleasure. I slowly continue walking, never taking my eyes off him as he stares motionlessly.

"Hey, uh... Milt? How's that evolution thing work again?"

I hear the boar reply from across the storeroom. "The _fuck_ you asking me that for now?"

"Well, you said there were some fish that like... grew legs, right?"

"Yeah. Wait, are you on something again? Dave told you to keep your fucking nose clean before jobs, goddamnit!"

"No, I'm good, I just... think I saw the proof, is all."

The leopard laughs. "Are you fucking kidding me? Get your shit together and get to fucking work! If you see anything moving in here, it's not a fucking fish. Got it?"

Milt, the boar, snorts softly. "We're definitely not alone. I can smell it. Ferret, I think. They're here."

"Oh shit, a ferret? Fuck that, I'll snap him like a fucking twig. You tell me if you smell that fucking wolverine, that's who we need to worry about."

As if I wasn't under enough stress, now I'm offended. Weasel is one thing, but ferret?! You don't call a polecat a ferret, that's like calling a wolf a dog! Domesticated, traitors to their own ki- no, goddamnit, that was centuries ago. I sigh. What specist shit that is, ignoring the fact that they're not really a separate species at all. History's a big shitstorm, and we'd be better off not carrying dead mammals' baggage into the future.

 

I make it to the work area and check the case. Safe and sound, all fish inside... I need to push this thing somewhere, got to-

"HEY!"

I freeze, turning my fish-head to see the boar stomping towards me. Oh shit, I'm fucked. I'm... FUCK THAT. I'm descended from the hardest, most obnoxiously stubborn fucking mammals this world has ever seen! I'm not about to let some pig get me brutally murdered over some expensive fish! I've fought meaner-looking mink over trash fish! I shed my delicious disguise and grab a knife from the table, brandishing it as I shout, "S-STEP OFF, MOTHERFUCKER!"

He laughs, unintimidated by my tiny knife. "You think I'm scared of you, kid? I've seen _hamsters_ more threatening. How about you drop the knife and I don't fucking kill you?"

He's getting closer. Oh shit, oh fuck. I'm not a fighter. He knows. I drop the knife and look around, finding... a gut bucket. Squid. We had an order of squid last time I was here. I should probably have cleaned up after work, but I'll worry about that if I get out of this. I grab an ink sac and give it a mighty squeeze, sending a thick, black stream of liquid hatred RIGHT at him... and onto the floor in front of his feet.

He blinks, completely clean, and looks at the puddle. "Are you fuckin' kidding me? Now I'm gonna gut you with your own knife, you little shit."

I'm no biologist. I know the basics well enough to pass a remedial course, but there's a lot I don't understand. But I feel safe saying fight or flight is an interesting experience. Folks talk about instincts all the time, but fight or flight - that's deeper. That's like our breathing and heartbeat, it's hardwired into our brains from long before mammals ever grew tits. (That's not sexist, by the way. Mammals are called mammals because they have mammary glands. Tits, to the layman.) This comes straight from dinosaur times or before, back when everything was a fish, a bug, or a lizard. I've scarcely picked 'fight' in my life, but this isn't really a conscious decision this time. Next thing I know, I'm screaming in a voice I've never known and clawing the everloving fuck out of this poor boar's face.

"OH FUCK, GET HIM OFF! OH GOD!" he squeals, staggering back and tripping over his hooves. His accomplices show up swiftly as I start chewing on his ear, kicking him in the eye.

"What the FUCK."

"Are you shitting me? Fucking grab him, you stupid piece of shit!" The leopard approaches and reaches for me, but pulls back as I bellow a terrifying squeak.

A thunderous shout echoes through the shop. "WHAT IS GODDAMN NOISE!"

Oh shit, that snapped me right out of whatever barbarian shit I just got into. Quickly considering my options, I walk calmly to my workbench and set about cleaning fish. He can't get mad at me if I'm doing my job, I think to myself. He'll just go ahead and murder these three... uh, unfortunate souls instead. I grab a rag and wipe my face and claws before snatching a fish from the case.

Fedor bursts through the door, fixing his bloodshot terminator vision on the frantic burglars. " _Youuu_..." he wags a finger, narrowing his eyes. "What the fuck you think you doing, you come here to steal this shit? You think nobody fucking KNOW?" With one paw, he picks up a rack of shelves and flings it at them as easily as a pawball. "GO RUN! YOU THINK YOU WILL HIDE? YOU THINK YOU GET AWAY? GO, WRITE WILLS WHILE YOU STILL ALIVE!"

Panicking, they all flee in terror from the murderous beast that stands behind me. I slowly work on the tiny fish in my paws, trying not to fuck it up too bad with my uncontrollable trembling. I can almost feel him turn to face me as my fur stands on end. He hums to himself, a low, curious growl that sets my nerves on edge. "What the hell... why you not come get me?" he asks, cool as a cucumber.

I open my mouth but can't speak. "I- I..."

"Pah. Nevermind." He looks toward the back of the storeroom and huffs, noticing the door. "Son of bitch! That expensive fucking door! _Kakogo cherta_. Now what is this..." he asks, leaning down and looking at the bloodstained rag. My hide bristles as he lets out a low, guttural chuckle. "Ah, fish boy not just stand here, eh?" I nearly fall forward when he pats my back. "Maybe Fedor underestimate you. Good boy, finish up and you get overtime for today. I go back to sleep. Call door repairman... _syn shlyukhi, eta dver' byla dorogoy_."

He trails off, muttering as he turns and heads through the door. Oh god... I drop my knife, bracing myself against the table and gasping for breath. Holy fuck, I think I'm gonna die, I'm gonna have a heart attack... I'm so fucking horrified. More frightened than I thought was possible.

Why am I so excited right now? I feel alive, as though I'd been living in a sealed box my entire life. And every breath, every taste of the blood on my lips, is another ray of sunlight piercing the veil. Holy fuck, how much does therapy cost? I'm gonna need some of that.


	23. The Invention of Dirt

Nine PM. Were this any other night, I'd still be asleep. But between waking up in a crane machine, a visit to the police station, and my first real encounter with murder, I'm a little jittery for sleep. Fedor was kind enough to give me a ride back to Pack Street and my van was right where I thought it'd be, so I've got that going for me. Still wish I could sleep. I figure I'll see my pharmacist, ask if he's got anything for me. He's always come through before. I grip the handle and take a few breaths, pulling hard against the stiff motherfucker of a door.

Harry looks up from stocking a rack of CDs. "Oh hey dude, how's it going?"

I grumble as I rub my brow. "Shitty. What've you got that'll put me to sleep?"

He thinks for a moment. "You mean musical, or what?"

"Whatever you've got, man, I don't care. I'm too fucking freaked to fall asleep naturally."

"Shit. What happened? Somebody chase you down or something?"

I slowly shrug. "Kinda? I don't really want to talk about it, it's more something for a licensed therapist to hear... or the police."

"Oh. I figured someone else recognized you from one of the videos." His eyes light up. "DUDE! Have you checked Chet's channel? Your bit at Chucklenuts has folks fucking _rioting_."

I wave a paw dismissively and sit on a box of... merchandise, I assume. "I don't care. Fuck 'em. Like anyone's gonna find a pitchfork in this fucking town."

Harry chuckles. "Nah, dude, it's just a bunch of weirdos arguing in the comments."

"Those comment sections are fucking proof that society's too sick to survive," I snarl, slouching forward.

"Harsh, dude. Anyway, Chet thinks he's finally got Gary on board for this, pretty soon we'll be shooting real sketches, not just random shit like getting drunk and-"

"And daring me to climb buildings, see how far I can get up a downspout, or fistfight a goose?"

Harry points at me. "Uh, the goose was your idea, bro."

"Yeah... well... that piece of shit was mean-mugging me."

He laughs. "I'm serious, dude, if you keep on the comedy track, you might do okay. I mean, you've already got a regular weekly gig hosting the open mic. Do you know what some guys would do for that?"

"Four years of stu-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Four years of drama and poetry and dickheads. You know, sometimes shit just takes time." He trundles over to a shelf and pulls a small box from a hidden drawer, then plucks a CD from a rack as he makes his way back. "Here's what you need." He hands me a small ball of aluminum foil. "That should fit in your little pipe pretty good. Put this on..." he continues, handing me the CD, "...and just try to relax. Well, you'll be relaxed whether you try or not, but that little gobstopper there should last you a while. Take one or two puffs as needed when you feel stressed and need to chill out. Let me know of any side effects or when you need a refill. Doctor's orders."

I smirk at his doctor bit. "Dude, I don't know if I can afford this right now," I say, looking back to the CD cover. Denholm? Haven't heard of them. Kind of a runic font, could be interesting.

Harry shakes his head, pushing the goods back towards me. "Man, you fuckin' _need_ it. If you wanna pay me back later you can but for now don't worry about it. I think you'll like this band, though. Really dark ambient stuff, all Vikingy and shit. Figured you'd be into that."

I sigh. "Thanks, man."

"Don't sweat it. Hang on..." he fishes his phone from his pocket and checks it. "Oh fuck... dude, did we leave you in that claw machine?"

My smile drops. "What."

"Goddamn... uh, don't watch Chet's latest video. Just go on, park your van somewhere quiet, and try to relax, okay? You can think up new ways to kill us all later."

Goddamnit.

 

I finally shut the door to the outside world and exhale. I drop my bag beside my pile of laundry and unbutton my shirt, tossing it aside. This fucking day... I really hope this shit's as good as Harry made it out to be. Life, too... I sometimes wonder how we became friends. We're polar opposites on the optimist-pessimist continuum, but I don't know enough about psychology to go farther into it than that. Everyone's heard the cliche that opposites attract, but anyone who's ever set foot outside knows that's bullshit for everything but magnets. Fuck that cliche. Fuck every cliche, but fuck that one first.

I pop the disc into my laptop and settle onto a loose, misshapen cushion. I realize I should probably check the battery first, and I curse as I rise from my seat. There's always something waiting to harsh me. I shuffle to the cockpit and press a well-worn button, watching the old needle spring from its resting place to wobble at around thirteen volts. Better than I expected, that will be fine. The inverter won't draw it down much if I'm just using the laptop. Returning to my seat, I press play and set the screen to sleep. The sound of waves fills the cabin around me, followed eventually by a deep, distant horn. I can already feel myself loosening up. I may as well go all the way, though, so I pull my pipe from my bag and set about preparing Dr. Harry's magical cure-all.

I hold my breath for a few seconds and release, setting the pipe aside and lying back on my seat. I just stare at the inside of the roof as my mind tries to wind down. Too much happening. Too much eating at me. Comedy, which was never my first choice. Writing, which has proven harder than ever. Auditions, none of which I've heard back from. The 'day job,' boring as it is, which is my best source of income, and as of now the greatest threat to my life. But the job feeds me, literally, and I'm not going back to cheap canned insects if I can avoid it. I shudder at the thought of scooping bug paste out of a can with a cracker. Hunger may be a potent spice, but there's only so much it can do. I think I feel better anyway since cutting out the carbs. I never liked grains.

I nearly jump out of my skin as my phone goes off. I scramble to find it and hold it close, squinting. 'Mom,' it says. _Shit_ , she's got some timing, doesn't she? Right as I can feel the nip taking effect. I take a deep breath and sit up, accepting the call.

"Hello? That's strange, it's all dark," she says.

That's a weird way to open a conversation. I haven't called in a while, I admit. Too long for her taste, long enough that she's actually called me herself. She never did like to feel like she was intruding. But I should have called. Just hearing my mother's voice, and my mother tongue no less, seems to relax me in itself. "Huh? What do you..." I pull the phone away, squinting at the screen. I double-take to see my parents staring at me from the screen. "What the hell? When did the _future_ get there?" I ask, grinning at the fact that they've apparently dressed nicely for the occasion. Did they think it was a job interview?

I, however, am shirtless and a complete mess. Not that they mind, I'm sure.

"Hello! You haven't called, and the service here can support these smarter phones now. We haven't seen you, so we tried to video-call. It's fantastic! Were you sleeping?"

I rub my face. "No. I mean, almost, I think. But that's okay. How are you?" I set the phone where it it faces me while I pull on a shirt and find my glasses.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Have you been very busy? If you need to rest, we can call again."

"No, it's fine," I assure her, interrupted by a yawn. "I just had to work during the day, something important." And nearly deadly. I won't tell them that part. I'm sure they worry enough.

Her eyes light up. My father even seems to react. "You found work?!" she asks, excited. "What are you doing? Is it everything you dreamed of?"

I chuckle silently, smiling as the humor of my situation becomes apparent. "No, uh, well... I have a regular job to feed me, comedy and theater are slower-going. I'm in the back of a little fish market cleaning fish."

My father bursts out laughing, slapping his knee at the poetic irony of it. I've traveled so far and spent so much time learning my art, and now that I'm halfway across the world, I'm making my living no differently than if I'd stayed home. "Are you really? Oh, dear..." He wipes away a tear, catching his breath between fits of laughter. "Oh, you just can't get away from it, can you, boy? I hope you're not pulling your fur out!"

I shrug, bringing the phone closer and holding it out in front of me as I lie down on my stomach. "The wage is okay, but it's more for the food." My expression sours. "This city is right on the sea but you'd never believe what fish costs here. I got really sick of beetles and vegetable protein. I mean, how is that crap even legal? It should be outlawed as torture."

Both of them grimace. My mother soon sighs, smiling. "It's so good to see you, even if you're not really here. I suppose we'll let you sleep, since you've been so busy. We're so proud of you, Reese."

I smile tiredly, quietly proud of myself as well for hiding the fact that I'm increasingly high as fuck.

"Call soon, okay? It doesn't have to be video, we just really wanted to try this out! Be safe, sweetie."

"Bye, mom. Bye, pop. Tell omma and avi I said hi." I return their wave goodbye and end the call, taking my glasses off and setting them on a small box beside my phone. I pull my shirt off and toss it... wherever. I don't care. I feel like my head has detached from my body and I'm just floating. I lie back down and blink slowly.

 

I can't have been lying here very long, staring blankly through half-lidded eyes, when the ever-familiar blast of a foghorn echoes through the cabin and sets my fur standing. Groaning, I grab my phone once again and squint at the screen. It's a number I don't know, but it's not the same first six digits as mine so it's probably not a robot. I'd answer it even if I thought it was, though. I can't afford to miss the one in a thousand calls that might actually be a job or a gig or a role. So many auditions, so many mammals who know my name... why the hell haven't I heard back from anyone? Is it my fur color? Is it just too weird? There are washable fur dyes out there. I could change it in five minutes. Is it something else?

I rub a paw over my face and answer. "Yeah?"

A female voice replies. "Hey. This is the van hobo, right?"

I furrow my brow. "Van _nomad_ ," I correct, sternly.

"That's a 'yes,' then. Harry says you've got your van back, right?"

It takes me a moment to respond. "Yeah."

"What the hell, did you just wake up or something? Don't sleep all night, we need your van."

"...Who's 'we?'"

"Uh, _Freyjasdatter_ , you forget about us or something?"

"Dude, I don't even know who I'm talking to."

"...Asa. Arctic fox. Metal band. Freyjasdatter."

"Oh."

"Remember now?"

"Kinda. I don't think you ever told me your band's name."

"You sure? I'm _pretty_ sure I would have."

"Look, I'm a little fucked up right now, so who knows. Why do you need my van?"

She pauses. "We need you to move things. With your van. You know, like it was _made_ to do."

"Oh. When?"

"In a few hours. Hey, are you _drunk_ or something right now?"

"No, no. I'm just really tired." And hungover. And starving. And high. "I... yeah, I can do that. Just call me when you need me, okay? I'm going to sleep." I don't hear what she's shouting as I hang up and lie still. Great... now my brain's _really_ going.

She wasn't wrong to ask if I was drunk. I drink too much, and it's probably going to kill me. What would my parents think? To have let their only child run off to seek his dream, just to get a letter in the mail and a dead kid halfway across the world? Or my friends, what about them? GODDAMNIT I DON'T NEED THESE THOUGHTS RIGHT NOW. I sigh, rubbing my brow. I'll just cut back on drinking. Yeah, that's it! Problem solved. Right, brain? Can't die from drinking if I drink less. Just have to worry about mobsters, angry drunken hecklers, and crossing the street. Goddamn.

 

Minutes pass, I think. I keep glancing at my phone. Towards it, really, since I can't see a goddamn thing. With the way my night's going I expect it to go off at any moment. At least my thoughts have switched track from introspection and worry to more mysterious questions about life and the world. Things such as how, if reptiles and birds have been around longer than mammals, why aren't they smart? Or if most species are scientifically described as quadrupedal, why do we all walk on two feet? Then again, I never did well in biology.

I never did well in anything practical, really. Math, science, shop class, welding... nothing that pays a wage. The jobs that are open to a douchebag like me all require that I deal with customers on a daily basis. Coffee shops, restaurants... service jobs. I fucking hate being beholden to someone else's merest whims. And the _attitude!_ Ten bucks for a shitty cup of coffee, and they think they're a king or something! They could make better coffee at home for less money and they wouldn't have to drive anywhere to do it. But they're paying a premium for you to serve it to them in a fucking paper cup, so you'd better make sure your visor doesn't have so much as a _speck_ of dust on it, because if it does their morning will be absolutely _ruined!_

My mind jumps from question to question, from topic to topic, and from theory to delusion for what seems like forever. Finally I realize that not only am I saying everything that crosses my mind out loud, but I'm saying it to someone on the phone... and I don't know who it is. I clear my throat and ask, "...Wait, was all of that out loud?"

A female voice answers, sounding bewildered. "...Yeah. Yeah, it was."

I pull the phone away and squint at it. Apparently I've been talking to Audie for twenty minutes, and I don't know which of us called the other. "Hey, this is gonna sound crazy, but did I call you or did you call me?"

"Crazy? That's not crazy, what's crazy is you wondering about who invented _dirt_ for three minutes. Are you on some kind of windowpane or something?"

"...No, I'm on the floor right now."

She laughs sarcastically. "Okay, well, whatever you're on, I hope you still have some because I'm gonna need to get in on that. I called _you_ , you knucklehead."

"Oh, okay. What's up?"

"Well I wanted to know if you're doing anything on saturday morning. There's a pretty awesome club, Ruby's, holding one of its best events. And, well, you're such a wound-up little shit I figured it'd be good for you to step outside your wheelhouse for a change."

"Oh, okay. What is it?"

"Well I don't want to tell you everything and scare you off, but I promise it'll be the most fun you've ever had. But there's a lot of preparation involved, and we'll have to get you dressed up."

"Oh, okay. Like what?"

There's a pause. "Liiike you don't need to worry about it, we've got it handled. Good enough?"

"Oh, okay."

"Do you say anything else?"

"I dunno."

"Cheese and crackers. Have you been hanging with Harry or something?"

"Yeah."

"Well  _that_ explains it. Anyway, I'll see you saturday. Or before, because I've been writing down some of the shit you said and it's _nuts_. You should really see it."

"Oh, okay."

I hear a sigh. "Okay, well, try not to lose your mind anymore than you already have. Later."

"Bye."

I check the time. I've just been lying here for hours. Fuck. When did Asa need me to help? Did I tell her to call me back? I don't even know where I'm going. Dammit. I'm too fucked up to pilot a vessel. I'm sure she'll call me back. I'll just lay down and get a little rest before she-

_HOOOOOOOONK_

Oh goddamnit.


	24. No Airbags, We Die Like Real Men

"You _got that?_ "

"Yeah, I got it, already! Cheese and freaking rice, you only said it seventeen goddamn times!"

"Yeah, well it didn't stick the first sixteen. If you flake on us, I'm sending Vivi and Therese to make you into a pair of mittens. You better be here, because I am _not_ buying a new winter ensemble to match your red ass."

I sigh. Son of a bitch, is she always this fucking pissy or just when there's a gig to play? She seemed all right when she came around with her horrible liquor experiment. "Okay, fine. But if that happens, I'll eat their fucking eyeballs. Just make sure you're ready to load your shit."

It's like she doesn't know Zoogle Maps is a thing on everyone's fucking phone these days! It's impossible to be lost in this city if you've got anything above five percent battery left. I pull on a shirt and adjust my glasses, making sure I've typed the address correctly. I _really_ shouldn't be driving, though. My small-mammal metabolism may be fast but it can't quite take care of whatever Harry gave me in under four hours. I climb up to the helm and turn the key on, checking a few things before I start the engine. Shit. I'm gonna have to get diesel. I push in the clutch and stomp the starter button, holding it until the engine clatters to life.

I listen as my phone recites directions, keeping my eyes open and on the road. I really shouldn't be driving. Did I say that already? It bears repeating. Holy shit, a Bug Burga. I never thought I'd be this excited at the prospect of rank-ass, shit-tier coffee, but I need something to keep my eyes open. My phone protests with a forlorn cry of 'recalculating,' but I'm hitting this drive-thru. Oh great, ther's some fucker ahead of me taking their time, as if it takes more than five seconds to look over a menu and pick a processed protein patty. They all taste the same, just pick one!

I FINALLY make it to the speaker, sliding the window open. I don't even wait for the worker. "Can I get a mini beetle biscuit and a medium espresso?"

The speaker crackles. "...Well, that IS what we sell," comes the reply, in a playfully-sarcastic tone. "Would you like to Meganeura-Size either of those?"

I scowl. I don't need playful sarcasm, I need caffeine. "No, or I would have asked." Calm tone. Clear words. Just a _little_ bit of palpable disdain to get the point across. It's not their fault, I tell myself. They have to be 'engaging' and 'fun,' and they have to ask if I want my meal to weigh as much as I do. Their absurd requirements were just one reason I didn't wear their stupid beetle hat for long.

"Pull up to the window, please."

 _Gladly_. I'm on a schedule here. I creep to the window and heave on the parking brake, waiting for the poor wage-slave to show up.

The window opens and a tired-looking canine of some sort stares at me. "Your total's three seventy-six."

Son of a bitch, fucking prices in this town... I don't want to think of how much the goddamn Meganeura-Meal costs. Forty ducks? If a tiny beetle biscuit and a thimble of shit coffee cost nearly four, I'm surprised there haven't already been riots. Thank fucking goodness I don't have to live off this shit. I fork over four and wait for my breakfast, which arrives sooner than I'd expected.

The window serf looks between me and the coffee, obviously confused about something. "Hey, uh... I don't wanna be a downer, man, but did you order a medium espresso? I'm required by company policy to warn you tha-"

I don't let him finish. "YES, I know. Big caffeine, tiny me. I have things to do and I haven't slept in twenty-four hours, just give me the coffee, please."

He shrugs. "All right, man, jeez. I'm just doing my job."

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. Just... just gimme the coffee." I fucking hate coffee. Are you surprised? Of course not, I hate _everything_. But coffee, I think, is the one thing everyone actually hates but has convinced themselves that they don't. It tastes like burnt _shit_ , but we put up with it because it's legal. I read the other day that Cheetah-Cola was invented to compete against coca wines. Coca wines! Wine with freaking _cocaine_ in it! I'm not big on coke myself, but those backward fucks from a hundred-odd years ago knew how to fucking _party!_ But all we've got is burnt-ass coffee and gross-ass energy drinks that taste like chemical syrup and give me heart pains. So coffee it is.

 

Oh fuck, I really should have ordered a small. Or maybe I shouldn't have chugged the steaming cup all at once. At least I couldn't taste the fucking biscuit with my tongue being burnt, so I guess it's not all bad. I'm goddamn shaking. I need to pull over for a minute... shit, there's a gas station. Gotta fill up. Can't run out. On a mission. Band needs me. I swerve into the station, some fucker honking at me the whole time, but I don't have time for their bullshit. I've gotta _go_. Speaking of which, that coffee ran right through me, goddamnit. I come to a stop in front of a pump and put on the brake - goddamn that's annoying. Lever's almost a meter and a half, and it's got about a fifty-centimeter throw on it. Couldn't have traded for something smaller, gramps? Maybe I'll rig up a pulley system so I don't have to walk it back. Just stand by the wheel and pull on a rope.

Enough on that for now. I'm gonna piss myself if I don't get in that bathroom. Gotta run, fuck, gotta run! Thank fuck they've got a small-mammal bathroom here, instead of just one big one with different-sized facilities. This cheap fucking city... everywhere you go you've got large mammal, medium mammal, and rodent-sized accommodations. And honestly, fuck rodent-sized shit. I'm pretty well used to being small, I don't want to take a piss crouching over a urinal. Then, of course, I have to deal with the goddamn rodents giving me the stink-eye the whole time I'm in their area. Only place in this city with proper-sized toilets is the Burrows, and fuck that place! I don't need my fucking eyes to bleed while I sit on a toilet made to look like a _goddamn turnip!_

I finish my business and exit the bathroom, wiping my paws on my shirt. Fucking out of paper towels, of course. I shuffle into the shop and up to the counter, staring at the sleeping attendant. "Hey." Nothing. "HEY." Goddamnit, I thought possums were supposed to be nocturnal. I grab a penny from the take-a-penny tray and chuck it, hitting her between the eyes. Startled, she drops like a stone from the ceiling onto some empty boxes.

"Ow! God, sonofa- whaddaya want?" she hisses, rubbing her head.

"Thirty dollars on pump twelve," I answer, sliding the cash across the counter. She grumbles as she rings me up. Lazy asshole... count yourself lucky I don't care enough to figure out how to report this. For a chore like that her boss would have to pay for my fucking fillup. I make it back to my pump and get the diesel flowing, checking my phone as I wait. The fuck do I have eighteen new emails for? Spam... spam... spam... video link from Audie of some moron going on about the [[Sheep State]]. Good thing she doesn't believe any of that garbage. Spam. Notice from the student loan vermin. Spam... another video link from Audie.

Wait, this one might be interesting. 'THE TRUTH ABOUT C.R.A.M.P. AND THE WEASLE CONSPRIACY.' They have typos and at least seven exclamation points in their title, so it MUST be true! At the risk of offending my data plan, I open the video and wait as it loads. Some hare, jacked up on something probably not legal, is glaring at the camera from across a shitty desk and screaming up and down about the savage monsters coming to eat everyone's babies. He pulls up a pictu- oh god damnit! That fucking day is going to haunt me for the rest of my life! Who the fuck does this asshole think he is? I've got half a mind to track him down and prove his crackpot theories right!

The pump shuts off with a clunk, and I put my phone away. I'll have to finish watching that later. For now, I need to get back on the road.

 

I arrive at a _pretty nice_ apartment building and pull around back, looking for the band. She said they'd be waiting by a storage bay or something. They can afford to live in a place like this but can't rent a damn van themselves? I could be fucking sleeping right now, what kind of bullshit is this? They'd better kick in twenty ducks or something for my trouble. That's fair, right?

I don't have long to haggle with myself on the subject before one of the sisters flags me down. I pull up and park, hopping into the back to get some of my crap out of the way.

Asa knocks on the back door. "Open up!"

I sigh, and shout back, "There's a goddamn handle! You know how those work, right?"

Oh good, she does. She opens the back doors and just glares at me, with some weird war paint smeared across her eyes. "The fuck took you so long?"

I shrug. "I _could_ have just not shown up, you know. How about a 'thanks for helping?' Is that out of line?"

She huffs and stalks off, presumably to grab some equipment, as one of the sisters - maybe the same one who flagged me down, maybe the other, I don't care - slides a speaker cabinet in.

"WHAT THE FUCK, it fucking reeks in here!"

Her sister, not far behind her, stops in her tracks. "Wait, do I even wanna come any closer?"

I roll my eyes. "IT'S A FUCKING. FISH. VAN. YEAH, IT SMELLS LIKE FISH. It's also got a polecat living in it, so I'm sorry if it's a little MUSKY." I rub my forehead. Why did I ever agree to this?

"Jeez Louise, what, did you wake up on the wrong side of the... hammock or something?"

"NO, I _didn't_ wake up at all, because I spent all day at work and was nearly MURDERED. So right now I'm jacked off my fucking balls on espresso and the nip has worn off. Do you have any more questions or are you going to get your shit?!"

Vivi and Therese look at each other thoughtfully and shrug. They go off to get more stuff as a GIANT GODDAMN DEER starts loading drums, scaring the crap out of me. I jump back, my fur bristling, as she notices me.

"Oh, sorry... didn't mean to scare ya." Her voice is soft and low, and the longer I stare, the less threatening she seems. Still, someone that big showing up that suddenly when I'm already caffeinated into a near-heart attack isn't exactly a pleasant experience.

"I... uh... no, you're cool, I just... really need to sit down." I plop myself upon a pile of clothes and cover my eyes with my paws, massaging my brow over my glasses. I'd be no help loading things anyway, I'm sure. Besides, I'm already helping. I brought the van. Before long everything's loaded, including... the band themselves. I look between them for a moment before asking, "What... am I the only one who can drive?"

Asa rolls her eyes as she makes her way to the cockpit, stopping when she sees the arcane control setup I'm so accustomed to. "Wait... what the fuck is this."

I sigh and climb to the helm, presenting what is actually the least insane thing my grandfather ever made. I sigh. "My grandad made all this and perfected it over years of use. The pedals on this thing were too far down. So I guess just tell me where we're going."

"Wow. I feel so much better about this," she whines.

"Hey, can you crack a window up there? We need some air back here."

I look at the wolves. "Which one of you is which and which one asked that?"

The one who didn't ask points to her sister. "She's Therese."

"Thanks. Shut up, Therese."

Asa grumbles and urges us on politely. "Are we gonna fucking _go_ tonight?"

 

It's slow going, apparently. I'm used to this thing. It's not fast. It doesn't look fast, to be certain, and with nearly a ton of musical equipment and superfluous meat in the back, it's best described as 'slow but steady.' Not good enough for some folks.

"What the fuck, will you _step on it?_ We're on a schedule, goddamnit!"

"Yeah, we'd like to get there _sometime_ before next week."

"I should have gone before we left."

"Ugh! I _knew_ we should have rented a truck!"

"I WILL TURN THIS VAN AROUND." I rub a temple as I grip the wheel in my other paw, cars passing intermittently on our left. "Fuck me for doing you all a favor, right? Next time I'll come into your home and bitch about it the whole time, see how you like it."

The one I haven't met before speaks up. Susan, the moose. "Hey, I'm sorry. They get kinda edgy before shows, they don't really mean it."

I scratch my nose and sniff. "Yeah, well I _do_. Unless it's directions to the show, I don't want to hear a fucking pe-" I'm interrupted by the telltale warble of a siren, as red and blue flashes in my side mirror. "Oh for the love of... fine. This is fine. This is just what I needed to top off my day." I point to Asa and the sisters, baring my teeth in a sneer. "If I hear _anything_ out of you, you're _walking_. Got that?" Nobody's happy with it, but they all understand that I have to deal with bigger shit at the moment. I signal at the next exit and pull off the expressway, stopping in some tiny gas station's lot.

"Fuck... FUCK." I beat my fists on the wheel and take a few deep breaths. It's probably nothing... I don't have any outstanding tickets anymore, thank goodness, it's probably just a taillight or something. Nothing to worry about. I'll get a fix-it ticket at worst. I glance at the mirror and see the officer approaching. Hyena. Big one. Great, I love feeling even smaller than I am. Really gets my heart rate up, especially when I'm running on nothing but caffeine and stress!

The officer taps on the window and waits for me to slide it open. He looks surprised at first, but he's probably seen stranger things. "Uhh, license, registration, and proof of insurance, please." I pull a small folder from a cubby and hand it over, sweating as he looks them over. "Son, do you know why I pulled you over?"

Am I supposed to guess? Fuck, I don't need this kind of mind game right now! I feel like I'm going to cry, I didn't know cops here liked to give pop quizzes! I swallow and stammer out a reply. "I, uh... no. No, I don't."

"Well, I clocked you at forty-three. Lower limit on the expressway is forty-five." He furrows his brow. "Are you wearing a seat belt?"

Okay, I've never heard of anyone being pulled over for, what... slowing? Un-speeding? I pack that thought up for later and shake my head. "N-no. Uh, sir. This van never had seat belts. And I don't even have a seat, to be ho-"

"That's fine," he says, raising a paw and noting something on a tablet. "What's in the back and what's the hurry?" he adds, the corner of his mouth creeping upward slightly.

Deep breath. You can do this, you fucking idiot, you've been naked on stage in front of dozens of mammals before! What's one cop? "I'm just helping some friends move some stuff."

"Uh huh. Where to?" He doesn't look up from his tablet.

"They're uh, they're playing a show tonight. They're a band."

"And you expect to get there on time, right?"

Okay, I don't need another wiseass. "...Well, it's not exactly a Purrari. Yeah, I can go a little faster, but I get better mileage at seventy."

He looks up. "Seventy?"

"Uh, kilometers. It's imported."

He nods, looking back down. "Have you had this thing smog-tested?"

"No. It's old enough that it's exempt." A joke bubbles forth from the foamy, caffeinated froth that my mind is right now. "Besides, I mean, it'd never pass... I'm sure you can smell it from there."

The officer stops typing for a moment and clenches his mouth shut as a strange, stifled noise leaves his nose.

Of course... goddamnit, aren't I a comedian? This guy's a hyena, the easiest audience in the fucking animal kingdom! I can get out of this with my weakest material! I take a second to collect myself and think of another. "If I'm going too slow, I'll try to pedal a little faster... will that work?" Weak shit. But this guy's already starting, so it doesn't matter. "I mean, maybe I'll have one of the girls in back push, but this van's not built for that kind of speed." This guy's got to be as sleep-deprived as I am if he's enjoying these hack one-liners. Even a hyena has standards. "I'm more of a sailor, really. Maybe the wind will shift and give us some help."

I keep this up for a couple minutes, gradually getting into it. The officer is shaking. He's biting his lip now as he struggles not to laugh. "Honest question, if I live in this thing, can I be arrested for drunk driving or do I get off the hook since I've already made it home?" That one gets him. My god, he must have had a dull night to laugh at that. Once the cackling dies down and he gets back to his feet, he wipes a tear away and returns to the window.

"Oohhh... kid, you don't know how bad I needed that. Just keep it over forty-four, all right?"

I stand up straight, a little excited. "Is... is that everything? Are you saying I can go?"

He catches his breath a little more, shaking his head with a smile. "I'm not writing you a ticket, but I can't let you off the hook completely, I'm afraid. Computer says you've been here for over a year, and that means you need to get this thing inspected and registered, and you need a city license instead of a..." he pauses, looking at my license. "...'Styrimadrblad?' Something in the local language, anyway. One moment." He heads to his car and returns shortly with a slip of paper and hands it to me, along with my license and other papers. "It's not a ticket, more a warning, but you have thirty days to get this thing registered and yourself licensed to drive in the city or you'll end up in some trouble. Are you here on a visa?"

I nod. "Uh, yeah. I've got all that, if you need to-"

He shakes his head. "Not necessary... not now, anyway. But you should probably make sure that's up to date too, or things could really get sideways. Drive safe, okay? And I never thought I'd tell anyone this, but step on it a bit. Have a nice night."

 

Later, surprisingly, the show has gone off without a hitch. Not only that, but it was a fucking blast. I ran into Harry just before it started, and he guided me through the whole thing. That was nice. Mosh pits are super fun. Well, when you're not in danger of being stepped on, anyway. But now the show's over and I'm hanging off his shoulder like I've been sedated or something.

"Dude, are you all right? You seem a little fucked up."

"No, I'm fine, I'm just, like, really fucking tired. Like 'you _shouldn't_ be driving' tired, not that I'm trying to get out of driving them back. There someplace to get coffee here?"

"Coffee, no. Energy drinks, probably. Folks tend to booze up at these shows, not really a crowd that needs to wake up. Come on, we'll find you somethin'."

"I'm gonna have to tell you about tonight, man. Up until this it's been pretty shit."

"Save it for later, dude. You've got a van to load up."

I grimace. "I really ought to kick your ass for volunteering me for this, you know that, right?"

Harry shrugs. "Eh, put it on my tab. What's that, like, seventeen ass-kickings I've got saved up?"

"Something like that. I'll get you a punch card or something. Every tenth ass-kicking is free."

"Shit, I like that deal."


	25. All You Can Eat

What the hell is all this traffic? Is there a goddamn hoofball game today or something? I just want to get to where I can park without getting a ticket! Goddamn. It's bad enough Fedor had a dozen fucking swordfish delivered tonight and I hurt all over, now I've got to deal with a FUCKING HERD CAMPED OUT ON THE HIGHWAY. This shit's giving me a headache... where the hell did I put th-

BEEEEEEEEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Ignore him... the dumb fucker isn't worth your effort. Just crank up some metal and-

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEEEP

Okay, fuck this guy. I put on the brake and hop down from the helm, stomping into the back. I swing a door open and glare at this brainless horse just as he glares at me. "WHAT? I _CAN'T GO_. THERE ARE CARS EVERYWHERE." Did he get the message?

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

That's a no. Where's the fucking sturgeon bow? I know it's in here. I've got all these nets and harpoons and rods, all these crab traps, it's got to be... aha! I drag the crossbow to the open door and set it up, pointing directly at this loud moron's radiator. I give him a curious look, as if to say, 'Hey, you really wanna honk that fucking horn again, motherfucker?' I keep my eyes locked on his as I wind the string back and set a harpoon in the groove.

He raises his hooves off the steering wheel and shakes his head slightly. I can see the rest of his family sleeping in the car, unaware of what a douche their patriarch is being.

Well, he's been _out_ -douched tonight. I hope he peed himself, because I almost did. I shut the door and disarm the contraption, heading back up to the cockpit. Wonder of wonders, by this time some the cars ahead have moved and I can pull up about a van length. I sigh. Somebody put me out of my misery already.

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK

Oh I KNOW this fucker isn't playing this game again!

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK

...Oh, that's me. I pull my phone from my pocket and see Audie's name flash on the screen. Huh. Wonder what this is about. "Hello?"

"Hey, what's up?"

What's up? Pollution, that's what. Miles of cars idling on the highway, dissolving a hole in the ozone layer above us as we speak, that's what. "Nothing. Stuck in goddamn traffic, thinking about just parking here on the expressway and getting high to some Danny Elkman shit. How about you?"

"Oh, that sucks... but don't do that, okay? You said you'd come with us to a thing tonight."

Wait. "What? When? When did I say that? And what 'thing?'"

" _Days_ ago. To your credit, I think you were out of your fucking mind on some shit Harry gave you. Have you still got any of that?"

I glance back to my living space, not that I can see my miniscule stash from here. "Uh, yeah."

"Cool, cool. I need to try that shit sometime. Anyway, come by Billie and me's place, we'll get you set up."

"Set up? Set up for what?"

I hear a chuckle. An otherwise normal chuckle, but it sends a chill down my spine for some reason. "Don't worry about that, you're gonna have an awesome time. This just isn't the kind of thing you show up to as-is, is all."

"Oh, sure. That doesn't sound weird or anything."

"Ah, quit being a wiener. We'll see you in a bit."

She hung up. Safe to gripe now, I guess. "Yeah, a 'bit.' Maybe if I drove a fucking plow truck." What the hell did I agree to? I blame Harry.

 

It's not a long drive to their apartment, despite the amount of time it takes me to get there. I find a secluded space to park, likely not an actual parking spot, but I'm not in anyone's way and there's no way some ticket-writing troll is coming this far off the street. As soon as I lock up, I head into their building, still wearing the same chum-soaked outfit I worked in.

This building's newer than Harry's. Nicer, too, but not by a lot. It's got an intercom. Shit, why aren't these names in order? There's always something... okay. Levy... Garrison... Wallace... Isaacs... Beksinski... aha. Van der Boom, A. That's the one. I press the button repeatedly, because what good is a buzzer if you can't use it to annoy your friends? I try buzzing out a rhythm, quietly singing along to get the timing right. " _Won't you take me to... funky tooooown, won't you take me to-_ "

Billie's voice barks through the speaker and nearly blows me away from the panel. " _KNOCK IT OOOOFF!_ " I hear a buzz on my end shortly thereafter and I pull the door open.

Wait, what was their number? I peek out at the panel once more to double-check. Okay. Only the third floor, great! I was wondering how I was going to burn off all this excess energy, I think sarcastically. Goddamn stai- OH SHIT, an elevator! What else does this place have? Maybe a pool?! I might have to crash here from time to time if it does, I'm sure they won't... well, maybe Audie won't mind. Billie could go either way, but I'm leaning toward 'fuck off.'

I find the apartment and knock on the door, kneading the soft, plush carpet of the hallway with my toes. Rent in this place can't be cheap. How do they afford it? Billie tends bar and Audie temps, so either they know somebody or they know something about somebody. The door opens, and I stop mid-greeting. "Hey Audie, I- oh. Sorry, man, I thought you were-"

The male marten before me - dressed in a crisp pair of dark slacks, a dark vest, and a patterned shirt - bursts out laughing in Audie's voice. "It's _me_ , you chucklehead!"

"Wait... what? Hang on." I turn around for a second and turn back, looking 'her' over again. "Shit, is that really you? How'd you... damn, you really had me. I figured you were one of your brothers or something, I mean, not that I've ever _met_ any of them."

She catches her breath and beckons me into a fairly modest apartment, but much less so than Harry's. Almost as if the mammals living here care how it looks. (Not to disparage Harry. He keeps his place clean, it's just not _pretty_.) I stare for a moment at a coyote in the other room. "Oh, yeah, that's Billie. It's CRAZY what she can do with makeup, right?"

"That's _Billie?_ " I ask, incredulously.

"Who the fuck else you think it is?" The canine replies, breaking the illusion. Yep, that's Billie.

It doesn't escape my attention that Billie is also wearing a sharp outfit. A typically male outfit. I stare ahead blankly as my tired brain connects errant bits of information in an attempt to come to a conclusion.

I look at Audie. "You're taking me to a drag place, aren't you."

She nods, shrugging.

"I appreciate the thought, but no."

"Aww, come on. You need to have some fun, dude, you're always so stressed out."

"I _am_ stressed out. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and this city is driving me mad. What makes you think I'm in the right state of mind right now to put on a dress and go prancing around some loud, brightly-lit-"

"That's _exactly_ why you ought to do it." We look to Billie as she takes a seat on the couch. "You need an escape, see? So you can stop being _you_ for a little while and actually be someone else. It's escapism, pure and simple. Let go of your bullshit for a few hours and actually have fun for once."

I blink, slowly processing this. But first, a thought: "You know, why is it that everyone here seems to have some kind of... like, meaningful shit to say at the weirdest times? And why does everyone think tricking me into going weird places is EXACTLY what I need when I'd rather be in my van smoking, writing, and listening to Oinko Boinko or something?"

Billie shrugs. "Idunno. Poler Bears seemed to work out okay."

I raise a finger and open my mouth, then pause. "Wait a minute. Whose idea was this?"

"Audie and Norm's."

Norm emerges from the bathroom, wearing the single most ostentatious dress I've ever seen, with a long, flowing wig atop his head. "WHOO. Y'all better let that room rest for a while. Oh hey, Reese! How you been?"

 

Norm and Audie watch as Billie takes charge of the situation, barking orders at me like the angriest makeup artist I've ever dealt with. Now, I'm no stranger to this. I've sat in the makeup chair many times, but the mood is usually a lot friendlier. Billie is... stern.

"Hold out your arm. I need to see if this gets the right shade." She snatches me by the paw without waiting, and brushes something into my fur that makes it look dark, almost black. She stares at it, craning her neck to see it from other angles. "Good enough. Go in the bathroom and take your clothes off, then burn them or something. You stink like fucking fish."

I furrow my brow as I rise from the chair. "Yeah, I mean, my _job_ is cleaning fish, so that's-"

"Shut up, damnit! Audie, give him the pants."

I look to Audie. "Pants?"

Audie shrugs and offers me what looks like some spandex briefs. "They're not totally necessary, but they can help hide y-" she loses her shit immediately and nearly falls over, clutching her sides. I don't know if she's laughing at me, but I'm definitely not comfortable with the implication.

"HEY, WOAH, what the hell are you..." I look to Billie and Norm. "Does she do this often? I feel like I would have seen this by now, I can't think of why-"

"REESE'S PIECES!" she screams, gasping for breath between bouts of laughter. "THEY'LL HIDE... THEY'LL HIDE YOUR _REESE'S PIECES!_ "

As the other two fuckers here start laughing their asses off I think to myself that, while I don't eat much candy, I'm definitely never eating anything by that brand ever again. I got enough of this shit in college, but this is a new low. "Okay, uh, I think I'll just go now. There's really nothing funnier that's going to happen tonight, even if you put me in a dress, so I figure quit while we're ahead, right?"

Billie points to the bathroom. "Nah. You can go brood tomorrow, they roped me into this and you don't get to fuck off."

I peek out from the bathroom moments later. "Hey, uh, I'm not really that, uh... you know. These things seem pretty tight, do I really need to-"

Billie sits up in her chair, ready to get on her feet. "I could put them on _for_ you. Neither one of us is gonna enjoy that."

I sigh and retreat. I emerge shortly, feeling uncomfortable, but I already know I'm not getting out of this. I mean, I could have been murdered just days ago, what do I have to lose? Hell, I could get some good material out of this. Oh, how I suffer for my art. "Okay, now what?"

They pause, looking me over. Billie seems annoyed, almost, which is hard to tell; she's got that look about her to begin with, and the makeup hasn't changed that fact. "Shit... he's meatier than I thought. Are you sure this is gonna work?"

Audie has an idea, or so she tells us. "I've got an idea!" She runs to someone's room and comes back with an elastic bandage. "Here, just cut off a bit and we'll do like a girdle thing."

I raise my paws in front of me. "Woah, hang on there. I didn't agree to... well, any of this, really, considering I wasn't fucking sober at the time, but this..."

Audie snatches the scrap from Billie and holds it over her head in triumph, her other paw holding two clips. "Awwwww, come on, don't you wanna see yourself with hips? That's a rhetorical question. Turn around and it'll be over sooner."

I grumble in the makeup chair, hardly able to breathe for the bandage constricting my waist. Whatever shit Billie is rubbing ( _very roughly_ , I might add) into my fur isn't making the task any easier. It smells like a trash can had a baby with a pumpkin. "Fuck's sake, are you trying to rub me bald?! _Fuck_ , that hurts!"

"Quit bitching, I'm almost done." She'd better be almost done! She's gotten my head and limbs, half my chest, and was getting a little too high on my legs for my comfort. I find myself looking at my paws and arms, having maybe the lowest sort of out-of-body experience. I'm brown. _Brown_. If I'd had this stuff as a kit, would I have dealt with all the same shit? ...Yeah, probably, those fuckers back home would have just found something else. They already made fun of me for being 'foreign,' wearing glasses, and being an only child. Fuck every last one of them.

I don't get to look for long before someone snatches my glasses off my face and pulls a bag over my head. "AHH, WHAT THE FUCK?! Get your paws off me, goddamnit! What kind of shit are you trying to pull now?!"

"Dude, relax! What the hell, man!" Audie laughs, pulling the bag down and over my head. "Put your arms through, jackass, it's just a dress." She sets a pair of glasses - not my glasses - on my face and backs away, as Norm kneels down to hold a mirror in front of me.

I stare for several long moments. These glasses aren't my prescription. They help, but I probably won't be driving us anywhere in these. Just some reading glasses or something. The dress is a flowery yellow sun dress that hugs my chest and hips a little tight, but at least it's not gaudy like Norm's.

Audie waves a paw in front of my face. "Heyo. Earth to Reese. You in there?"

"...Holy shit, I look like my mom." I start laughing. I guess I never saw past my fur color.

Audie chuckles. "You're a thicc little minx is what you are, and tonight your name is Moxy Mischief. Okay? Let's get going!"

 

We pile unceremoniously out of Norm's car, in a part of the city I've never seen before. Granted, I've never seen a _lot_ of this city, but this is beyond anything I'd imagined. Neon and blinking lights everywhere, searchlights criss-crossing overhead, and a giant marquee as big as any on Broadhoof that announces the venue: Ruby's. I've never heard of it. They've been explaining it to me on the ride, though, so I know more or less what I'm in for.

"Okay. So this isn't 'just' a drag bar. It's a drag revue, obviously, but every month they open up the stage, anyone can go up, and the place changes entirely. You'll be so high on endorphins by morning, you'll wonder why you've wasted your life anywhere else."

I ponder what Billie's said, sliding out of my booster seat, and look to Audie. "What if I already wonder why I've wasted my life on an almost nightly basis?"

Audie hops from her booster and flutters her lips dismissively. "Ahh, you're gonna have a great time. There are contests all morning, the drinks are awesome, and NO DOUCHEBAGS. Seriously, Ruby runs a tight ship."

The Ruby she's referring to is, of course, the owner. Ruby, a.k.a. Michael Stanton, is a former ZBA lightweight champion and still boasts one of the meanest right crosses in town. The lights inside are fairly dim, and bright spotlights illuminate a long stage that takes up an entire wall. The bar, certainly the longest I've ever seen, takes up most of the wall to the house's right. The music is as loud as I'd expected and just as annoying.

"I'mma get us a table," Nor- I mean, _Cleopatra Denial_ , drawls as she waddles off. Billie and Audra - tonight going by the names _Bennigan Clyde_ and _Chadley Studkruger_ respectively - drag me to the bar to pick up some drinks.

"Hey, can you just get me a vodka or something? I'll go with N- uh, Cleo."

"Sure, you can have a vodka. If you want to be boring and shitty."

Aud- I mean Chadley looks back to me with a smile. "You like daiquiris?"

I grimace. "Daiquiris? Do I _look_ like I want diabetes? No thanks."

"Pff. Come on, get into the part! We'll get you a Lemmingway daiquiri. Half the sugar, twice the rum. 'Kay?"

I shrug. The part... get into the part, s/he says. _The p_ _art. The role. The character._ Why didn't they sell it to me like that? I probably would have gone along a little easier if they had. I've been yearning, _starving_ for any opportunity to flex those muscles, it's the main reason I agreed to be part of Chet's MooTube channel, it's the entire reason I came to this city!

I know myself better than that. Even if they'd sold it as a role, I'd have tried just as hard to skip out.

Cleo got us a table near the stage, and even found a couple boosters for Chad and me. This drink is still a bit sweet for my taste. It's strong enough, but it's a little sweet. Before long we're treated to the real beginning of the morning's event, and the mistress of ceremonies herself strides captivatingly onto the center stage.

"Welcome, everyone! I see so many new faces tonight, and so many regulars, what say I shut my trap and we get this goddamn party started?!" A thunderous cheer erupts, completely covering the already-loud music. I clap my paws over my ears and wait for the roar to die down. I'm going to need another drink if this is a regular thing.

Men and women, all manner of predator and prey, strut across the stage to the raucous approval of the crowd. Chad puts a paw on my shoulder. "Hey, Moxy, I'm gonna go up! You wanna come?"

I shake my head and point to my second daiquiri, sucking thirstily on the straw. "I'm busy, but thanks."

He laughs. "Aww, we'll get you up there sometime tonight. What's the point in just sitting and drinking? You could do that anywhere, this is _Ruby's!_ Live a little!" With that, he hops off and joins the line to wait his turn.

Bennigan stares at me, shaking his head. "Lamb of God, are you _ever_ fun? Even when I've seen you on stage, you're just bitter and angry."

I glare over my half-ass spectacles. "This coming from you?"

He raises his paws in a shrug. "Hey, at least I cut loose sometimes. Cleo, order the lady another daiquiri."

 

I sway slightly, gripping the mic stand for support. Chad is by the machine, picking a song for me - no Nest Side Story, I was firm with him on that. My being made-up and in a dress doesn't make "I Feel Pretty" okay. In fact, it makes it _worse_. It's too obvious, too on-the-nose. It's cliche. I _hate_ cliche. That, and three morons already sang it. I squint at the words scrolling up the screen. I can't read well in these glasses... how worthless are these? They're supposed to be reading glasses, they should get a fucking refund on these pieces of shit. But I recognize a few words. I know these lyrics. I don't need to read shit! I'm a goddamn _performer_ , I don't need my lines fed to me!

I clear my throat and start singing, in my highest register, as the music begins. " _Toniiight... I'm gonna have myseeeelf a real good tiiime. I feel aliii-i-i-ive..._ "

The song went over well. Nobody booed anyone, it's a total ego boost. I might do this again. But alas! The sun is rising, and with the day, the fun must go to sleep. Chad and I are hanging onto each other as we stumble to the apartment building, somehow making ourselves stable enough to not eat shit with every step.

"You know, I could just carry you both."

"NO. I'm a strong, independent woman and I don't need a _man_ to carry me like some prissy little _princess!_ "

"...Dude, you're _literally_ leaning on a 'man' for support right now."

"Shut up, Ben. You're no better than those pigs at the office, looking down on me all day... I'll slash your fucking tires, you don't know me!"

Billie just stops. "WOW. I gotta try those fucking daiquiris."

We make it to the apartment and I immediately shed the act. As if by magic, the door closing has tripped something in my brain that says I'm off the stage, the show is over, and I want to geT OUT OF THIS GODDAMN GIRDLE.

Audie laughs as I yank the dress up and over my head. "Hahahaaa, you frisky little mink! I'd buy you a drink first, but we're already fucked up!" she snorts, falling on her ass without me to support her.

I rip off the bandage and begin feverishly scratching my naturally-red midsection, sighing, almost growling in relief. "Does this shit just wash out? I'm- I'm gonna take a shower," I slur, pinballing my way into the bathroom. Hey! My boxers are in here! Thank Njord, I can take off these horrible goddamn... I don't know what they call them, I call them undersized underwear. Fuck these things.

Maybe fifteen minutes later I emerge from the bathroom damp, red, and smelling of flowers. I don't know why I've never used conditioner before. I'm so soft, I can't keep my paws off myself. I'm SO FLUFFY. I should probably get going. I peek out the window and nearly scream, covering my eyes and falling away from the window. FUCK NO I'm not going out there! I'll crash on the couch, that's _bullshit_ out there! I'll just hop on up and- fuck, how did I fall on the floor? I'll try climbing instea- what the hell. I raise a paw and feel around, finding... sequins? Oh fuck, Norm's on the couch?! He wasn't even drunk! He could have just gone back to his... goddamnit. I sigh, squinting around for someplace to sleep.

"You lookin' for a place to crash?"

I nearly jump out of my pelt as Audie sneaks up on me. "FUCK, don't creep up on me like... like that. Yeah, you got another couch or a cushion or something?"

She shrugs, or at least I think she shrugs. Can't see a goddamn thing. "I got a bigass bed, come on." She leads me by the paw to what I assume is her room, and guides me to what is, indeed, a bigass bed. Like, two size categories up from us big.

A spark of clarity flashes across my mind for a moment, followed by another. "Oh, uh... are you sure? I mean, I'm not ungrateful or anything, it's just that I'm..."

"Too drunk to get a boner? Yeah that sounds nice and all, but I'm too tired anyway. Maybe tomorrow."

I sit atop the mattress and ponder that. That was very casual, the way she said it. "Are you, we... are we a thing and I didn't notice? I mean, that was really... you didn't even hesitate."

She climbs up and yawns. "A 'thing?' Nah," she chuckles, dragging the comforter back. "If you wanna try something like that, though, we could talk about it, but I'm cool with what we've got going."

"What- what've we got going?"

She snorts, laughing drunkenly. "We're kinda close friends who've hooked up drunk and didn't end up hating each other for it, so I _think_ that's something, isn't it? Are you more traditional than that or something?"

I hold out my paws, stammering. "NO, no, well... kind of, but I'm open to things. I mean, sure, this seems fine for now at least. I don't know anything about all the pan and poly and... uh, like, the new shit that's going around online, but it doesn't... bother me. I think."

She stifles a laugh. I know she's staring at me, I can kind of make out her big ol' ears on either side of her head. She's either looking at me or away from me, so probably at me. "Dude, you're crazy. That's the _first_ place your brain went?"

"I'm fucking _drunk_. If you want rational thought, you ask me when I'm sober, or better yet just after a coffee."

She laughs out loud this time, patting the mattress next to her. "All right, weirdo, enough jabbering. C'mere and get some sleep." With only slight hesitation, I lie down as she wraps her arms around me. "Hmmm... well, you're better than my body pillow anyway. Warmer, softer..." She buries her nose in my back and takes a deep whiff, startling me. "...Did you use my conditioner? Damnit, that isn't cheap. I'm getting my money's worth whether you like it or not," she snarks, kneading and pawing my fur. " _Damn_ you're soft, though."

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. "Uh... go ahead, I guess, I mean you paid for it, after all." I wonder if she'll scratch my back, it could use more attention. She starts snickering as I begin to drift off. "What's funny?"

She quiets herself. "I'm... I'm gonna start callin' you Candyman, 'cuz of your Reese's Pieces."

I let out a soft huff. "Oh yeah? Well, then I'm gonna call you..." Think, you bastard, think. "I'm gonna call you Oyster."

She stops groping my pelt. "Aww, are you saying I'm a pearl? That's fuckin' corny, dude."

I clear my throat. "No. I mean you're salty, a little sweet, just a little bit fishy, and I don't need a drop of hot sauce to eat you." Both of us begin laughing as she pummels me roughly with a pillow.


	26. Kiss Me

I cough, pretending to clear my throat. Hopefully nobody notices I'm choking halfway through a set. Ten fucking minutes and I clam up at five, things are looking good. "So anyway... what was I talking about, religion? Yeah, I think that's it. What's that?" Someone in the crowd calls something out. "You're gonna have to speak up. I've got a microphone, you don't. Say that again? _Beech trash?_ That's a kind of tree, isn't it? Are you allergic? Oh, you're gonna _beat my ass_. Okay, I heard you that time. Yeah, sure, lady. You beat my ass, I'll beat your ass, whatever you need to get off is cool with me. Just make sure you pay me, I'm a _whore_ , not a _slut_."

The crowd laughs. Put a few drinks in some folks and they think they're the funniest shit in the septic tank all of a sudden. Still, there are times when they've actually stuck around to beat my ass after the club closes, so I know better than to walk out the door alone. Last motherfucker who tried, Norm just about threw him across the street. But Norm's not here tonight. It's just me and a few other comics I'm barely acquainted with, and they don't seem like they'd have my back. Best I can do is sneak out with the audience.

"So. Religion. Anyone here religious? You? You? All right, you're gonna _love_ this. If you don't, just meet up with that asshole over there and you can both beat my ass after the show. Sounds fun, right? Awesome." I clear my throat again. Not because I need to, but because I need to catch my breath. "I'm not religious. If you are, good for you, I really couldn't give a shit. But if you're a member of the largest religion in the world, and chances are good that you are, I just want to ask you a few questions."

"Now, I know what side of town this is, and I know what most of you are: you're predators. Just like me, your ancestors ate other folks to survive. I'm not gonna get into a whole historical rant here, so don't worry, the funny shit's coming. Now, it just seems a little weird to me that predators would follow a religion based around a sheep. I mean, I've got nothing against sheep as a whole, I own plenty of sweaters. But I've read some of the stories, and that holy book of theirs, holy _shit!_  Guys, it does NOT make us predators look good. What's even weirder is that wolves get it the worst, and for some goddamn reason, they're one of the most famous species behind spreading the fucking thing!"

I take a sip of wine. Red, red wine... goes to my head. Makes me funnier. "I won't go into it, but my ancestors, they actually ran from wolves spreading that shit. Got in their little boats and moved to the most inhospitable little island group in the world because it was better than being flayed alive. Brutally murdered by followers of the 'prince of peace,' as I've heard him called. Yeah, you know, the prince of peace! Super awesome guy, he wouldn't hurt a flea. But you better start worshiping him. You better, because his followers don't read the shit he said, so pretty soon there'll be a peace of you over there, a peace of you over there, and they'll send a few peaces to your family just to drive the point home."

"But even weirder than _that_ \- like I said, I wasn't gonna get into a history lesson, I'm on a schedule up here - just the _ritual_ is fucked up. Now, I grew up making offerings of food, trinkets, booze... the gods I grew up with are pretty cool, you just throw 'em a little food and they fuck off. They're kinda like relatives, but they talk less and they don't sleep on your couch. But the weirdest fucking part is the main ritual, the BIG one that happens every Sunday. Does anyone else realize that a religion started by a prey species actually holds as its most sacred rite an act of symbolic cannibalism?! It's bread and wine, but according to their own dogma, once you eat it, it actually BECOMES the meat and the blood of their god. Doesn't anyone think that's fucked up?! I'm not kidding, I've had _nightmares_ about eating somebody, especially during that whole shit with Bellwether. And these motherfuckers pretend to do it all around the world on a fucking weekly basis?! How the FUCK does anyone take Flocks News seriously when they advocate for this shit, then turn around and tell people it's the predators they need to watch out for? I'd be keeping my eyes on those fucking priests! Who the fuck knows what's REALLY in those wafers?!"

 

I elect to sneak out the back door, lighting my pipe as I look over my shoulder. No one in sight. I'll still have to walk out front to get to my van, but they won't be watching for me to be coming out of the alley. I could be paranoid, but I saw that bitch from earlier making some pretty specific motions. Cracking her knuckles, punching her palms, that sort of thing. I'm not about to tangle with someone over twenty times my size, especially if they've got backup. I creep along the wall, sniffing the air. Shit... I really should have waited to light up, I can't smell a goddamn thing. Peeking out around the corner, I see them. Two wolves, a big one and a lean one, waiting to turn me into a red smudge on the pavement. They're busy chatting about something. I don't care what, I'm just glad they're looking the other way.

I make it across the street and into my rolling sanctum, safe and sound within its corrugated walls. As the engine clatters to life and warms up, I wonder... should I taunt them? No, bad idea. I probably drive the only van like this in the fucking country, I'd just be inviting them to slash my tires the next time they see it. I'll just putter away to put them down another day.

I grip the wheel as I set course for a quiet area to park. Tonight's just been draining, and I'm not just talking about the lousy show I just did. All night I've been running from audition to audition, just trying to get on someone's list. A bunch of the competition in this city couldn't act their way out of a wet paper bag, but _I've_ never gotten a call? I'd bet you ten dollars they do butt stuff. Shit, what if that's what's holding me back? There's no way I can do that shit, most dicks are half my size. I don't care what kind of lube they've got, that shit just isn't gonna work.

I pull into a secluded lot, hidden behind a store that looks like it went out of business years ago. Nothing left to do this morning but sit back, do a little writing... if the words will come out, anyway. But no sooner than I park the van, my phone shakes in my pocket. Great! I'm sure this is nothing but good news. A text from Asa. Okay, what the hell does she want?

'Can u come here?' Nice spelling. Every phone comes with a keyboard now, there's no reason to abbreviate your words like some chat-room idiot from ten years ago.

'Why?' I reply, sighing loudly for my own sake. It's not like I had plans tonight or anything, of course I'll drop everything and bathe myself in your undeserved sarcasm! ...So what if I didn't have plans? Shut up.

'Writing. Want fresh perspective' I utter a dry chuckle at that. A fresh perspective, she says.

'What's in it for me?' is my natural response. I'm already thinking up excuses. Too tired, that could work. Maybe I'll tell her I've got a nasty cold. Nobody wants to catch that shit. Got in a fight with a skunk? Nah, seems unfair to skunks. I've got nothing against skunks. They deal with enough already.

'I got mead'

Son of a bitch. How does she know me this well? 'On my way.' At least the engine's still warm. I'm not close to her apartment, but traffic's light this time of night. I should be there soon enough.

 

It's later than I thought. Traffic's picking up. It's not bad yet, but the early birds are just starting their commute. I find a decent spot and shuffle to the door, realizing I can't reach the intercom. Son of a bitch, do I have to just text her? 'Open up.' ...Is that creepy? It's too late anyway, I already sent it. I don't know if that's a weird thing to text someone. I mean, I'm not some stranger texting her out of nowhere. Fuck it, you know what? She invited me. If it's creepy, she can just deal with it. The door buzzes and clicks, allowing me inside. She's kind enough to text back her apartment number.

It's a long walk for legs as short as mine. The elevator's a great time saver, but this is a massive fucking building. Expensive, too... there's art on the walls, and actual flowers in several places. How does a young nobody metal singer afford a place like this? I'd expected something like Harry's place when I came here to move gear. Lucky fuck. I finally reach her door and knock.

Inside I find the lot of them sitting around and drinking. I'd believe they were actually writing if they were smoking, but I've never hung out with musicians, just comics and idiot theater majors like myself. "So... what's up? You're that desperate for ideas that you'd call my ass in?"

One of the sisters shrugs. "She wanted to hear your bear story herself."

I think for a moment. "Is that it? I could have told that over the phone." Then again, I wouldn't be drinking for free if I'd told it over the phone. "Shit, I'll tell you more than that one, just point me at the drinks." The stories flow better with a little booze in my belly. I recite a few stories, pausing to sip here and there, until my glass runs dry. "Damn, I'm out. Can I get a refill?"

Asa looks up from her laptop, on which she's been typing feverishly. "Oh. Yeah, Colin? Just give him the bottle."

It takes me a moment to realize I don't know anyone here named Colin. Before I can look around, however, a shadow looms over me and sets a bottle in front of me, leading me to freak right the fuck out. "SON OF A BITCH!" I shout, leaping to the side. "FUCK, sorry... sorry about that. I don't like being leaned over, it's... I always think I'm gonna get stepped on."

I open my eyes to see the weirdest-looking, gangly-assed Lord of Hipsters canine staring back at me, startled. "Oh. Sorry, man, I didn't realize."

"Fuck. You're cool, just give me a second. Where the hell did you come from? I don't like being snuck up on." Goddamn this guy looks weird. The skinny jeans and plaid shirt are the most normal thing about him; he looks like a fox fucked a coyote and they dropped their baby in a taffy puller.

He looks at Asa and the rest, shrugging in confusion. "Uh, I was here the whole time."

Someone snickers. One of the sisters, I can never tell them apart. "Dude, how did you not see him? What are you, drunk?"

" _No_ , I'm not _drunk_. I probably thought his skinny-ass black jeans were table legs or something. Goddamn hipster pants."

Colin rolls his eyes and sits back down across the room. "Hey, I just buy what fits me. You don't see me mocking how those cargo shorts you're wearing reach your ankles."

Motherfucker. "All right, go back to your Pabst and we'll call you when we want to hear about bands we've never seen."

He throws his paws in the air. "I'm not a goddamn hipster, this is just what fits me! I've been dressing like this since-"

"Since before it was cool?" Asa interjects, laughing. "Just ignore him, dude, I told you he was kind of a dick."

"I'm not a _dick_ ," I insist, taking a drink.

"Yeah, you kind of are."

 

Another glass of mead, small as it is, and it's beginning to show that I'm a lightweight. I mean obviously, I'm big for my spe- uh, I'm big for either of my species, but I'm still pretty small and these cups are big for me. I'm losing my impeccable grip on the language, and certain stories are starting to blend together. "Okay, okay, wait wait wait... I'm a little too buzzed to tell these straight, but I can grab some of my notebooks. I've got, like, a shitload of stories in those."

Asa blinks, seemingly surprised. "Shit, really? Hey Colin, you wanna give Sinbad here a hand? We don't want him falling down a drain or anything."

Colin shrugs and strides over, with his creepy long legs and everything... he's seriously like seventy-five percent arm and leg, it's weirding me out. After staring for a moment he hums and reaches down, plopping me on his shoulder and heading out the door.

"Holy shit you're tall. Okay, uh, my van's out back, everything's in there. You... you just passed the elevator."

"Stairs are quicker."

"Uhhh riiiight." I hunker down and grab his collar and sleeve, clinging tenaciously as he practically _levitates_ down several flights of stairs. "Okay I know I'm not that drunk, how the fuck did you do that?" I ask, looking around to verify our altitude.

"My job has me up and down stairs all day every day, man. You learn how to take 'em smoothly."

"The hell do you do?"

"I'm a letter carrier."

I blink, realizing I've seen this fucker before. "Oh shit, yeah, I think I've seen you around. So you're in their band, too, though?"

He shrugs, almost dislodging me. "Well, sometimes. When they need a fiddle, yeah. Where's your van?"

I point. "It's the big one, there."

He pulls his head back. "Seriously? How the hell do you-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I don't feel like giving the rundown right now, it's complicated. My books are in the back." He opens the door and I point out the boxes of notes. "Uh, grab that box there. That's most of the songs and folktales."

"Huh. You're willing to just share this? There's a bunch in here."

"Pff. _Share?_ I'd better get partial writing credit on the album for this shit, I spent a lot of time on some of these. The blue notebooks are all the translations that I got to fit a meter, those aren't fucking free."

He looks in the box, but doesn't ask about the other colored notebooks. "Okay. What's the other box?"

"That's my original stuff. That doesn't go. None of it's songs anyway, just stories and stage stuff. Go ahead and shut the door."

He turns his head slightly as he heads back, looking at me. "You do theater?"

I rub my forehead. "Fucking... wish I did, spent my adult life studying for it and the only stages that'll have me are in fucking bars and comedy clubs."

"Really. You any good?"

"What the fuck does that mean?! I'm fucking GREAT, I just don't get work because I don't... fuck, I don't know. Is it my fur color, you think? I'd take fucking anything, just as long as I get a foot in the door. Just as long as I don't have to suck a dick or anything."

He nods, making his way up the stairs. It's surprising how fast he moves, but his legs have got to be two and a half times my entire height. "That's bogus."

 

Back inside, Asa just stares at the box of notebooks. "...Oh, okay. Which... shit, which one should I go for first?"

I stagger over and pull out a blue one. "These blue ones are the good ones. Translated and worked through to fit a meter, sometimes even the original. Most have the basic melody with 'em." I take a sip from my glass. "Hey, anyone got a cigarette? I left my fucking bag in the van."

Asa rolls her eyes as Colin flicks me a smoke. "Go do it by the window. Where the fuck did you get all of these?"

I light the cigarette - though it's more like a filtered cigar for me - and give her a look as I sit on the window sill. "I told you, these are all just stories I grew up with. A lot of them aren't mine, well... none of them are _mine_. I mean, a lot of them came from other countries with shared history. The red books are straight translations, you might get something out of those. The green ones are originals from all over Kalmar."

She looks in a green one at random. "Where'd you get all these?"

I take a drag and lean back. "I spent a lot of my childhood reading. Better that than go outside and get the shit kicked out of me."

Susan looks up from one of the notebooks, which is absolutely tiny in her hooves, with a sympathetic look on her face. "Wow. Where'd you grow up? Was it really that bad?"

I sigh, staring out the window at the bright spot behind the clouds. "Well... a lot of what I remember paints an unfair picture. I mean, nobody remembers the days they went to school and _didn't_ get beat up, they just remember the days they got thrown down the latrine."

Asa pulls out one of the brown notebooks and laughs. "What the fuck _is_ this? Are you goddamn serious, holy shit. Vivi, look at this."

Well now I know which is which. Vivi looks and screws her face up, squinting at a page. "Uhh, okay. What the fuck am I looking at?"

"He fucking wrote this shit in _runes_ , is what you're looking at. God, what's next, are you going to dress up in a little horned helmet? Therese, what's the Viking version of a weeaboo?"

I throw the cigarette down and scamper, drunkenly, to where Asa sits on the couch and snatch the notebook. "I said you could look at the blue ones and the red ones. When the FUCK did I give you permission to look at the brown ones?!"

"Jeez, lighten up, Eric the Red! Just wondered where you learned all this shit."

"I learned all this shit at home," I snap, putting the brown book back in the box. "Just stick to the translations, like I said."

Asa crosses her arms. "I think I'll read the green ones, too. My parents are from West Kalmar, dick, I know the fucking language," she growls.

"ᚴᛁᛌ ᛙᛁᚿ ᛓᛆᛚᛧ. You understand that?"

"...Yeah, no, I don't speak whatever boat-bumpkin language that was. The fuck are you from?"

"Lundøye. And that was 'kiss my balls,' by the way."

She laughs, surprised. "Holy shit, you _are_ a boat bumpkin? How the fuck does anyone live on those tiny fucking rocks?"

"We FISH. You know what? Give me the books back. You can collect your own fucking folk songs."

She raises her paws. "Hey, hey, dude, it's cool. Look, I'm sorry. I really didn't know anyone actually still lived there, okay? I'm just confused, you don't have an accent or anything. How about another drink?"

I pull my glasses off, rubbing a paw over my face. "Fine. Just watch your fucking mouth."

" _Snakker du Vest Kalmarisk?_ " she asks, for some goddamn reason.

I roll my eyes. " _Snakker du Lundisk?_ " I reply, in as mocking a tone as I can.

"Wow, shit, _now_ you have an accent. How the fuck do you do that?"

I shrug, taking a drink. "Only reason you think I don't have an accent is that I've faked this one so long it's become normal. Ask Harry, he's heard the real one come out."

 

Asa pulls Vivi, Therese, and Susan aside to look over a few 'choice picks' she's made. She picks out the basic melodies on a guitar and copies them down, as the rest follow along and start planning parts. Colin and I sit against the wall, and I relight my cigarette from earlier. I tap him on the arm and point at the group. "Hey. Do you have any idea how she fucking affords this place?"

He opens his eyes. "Hm? Oh. Her family owns a pulp company back in Kalmar."

"Are you fucking shitting me? A _pulp_ company."

"Yeah, pulp's big business. It's not just in paper and cardboard. This wall's drywall, it's got paper backing. Shit's in everything."

"What the fuck. My family owns shares in a fucking fish plant, why aren't _we_ fucking loaded?"

He shrugs. "Volume? I've never heard of wherever you're from, but I'm guessing it's small."

"Well, yeah. Few thousand of us scattered over a bunch of islands, most of 'em tiny. What about you, how'd you get in with this? You a musician?"

"I'm an _artist_."

I blink. "Okay. What the fuck does that mean? You go up on stage and make a goddamn sculpture?"

"No, I do-" he sighs. "I don't limit myself by those terms. Painter, dancer, musician, poet... they trick you into pigeonholing yourself. If you think of yourself as just one thing, it limits you. You can even think of yourself as two or three things, but your mind sets up barriers between those and you end up limiting yourself just the same. So I say I'm an artist, that way _everything_ I do is my art. If it's a nice day, I'll go out and do some pantomime. And I can tell a story with that. Where's the writing end and the acting begin? To me, they're the same thing. They're both art."

Oh that explains a lot. He's a mime. "Oh shit, are you saying you're a street performer?"

"I wasn't saying _that_ , but I-"

"You go out in public wearing a striped shirt and a beret, don't you."

He leans down, almost to my eye level. It's kind of freakish, because his spine can't possibly do this naturally. "Are you saying pantomime isn't art?"

I blink. "...I mean, is that all you do?"

He straightens back up. "Nah. I used to be in a band, but I can't write lyrics to save my life... just tunes." He sighs. "I play fiddle for Freyjasdatter when they need one, and I'm invo-"

"How'd you get in with them, anyway? Seems a weird combo."

He huffs as I interrupt him yet again. "Asa's my second cousin. Can I talk?"

I hold the bottle carefully under my arm, trying to top off my glass. "Huh? Oh, sure."

"I'm also involved in local theater. Group I'm with is trying to put on-"

"Wait, seriously?! Why the hell didn't you te-"

He snaps my mouth shut with a thumb and forefinger. "I'm _getting_ to that, if you'll shut up for a second! As it happens, we're trying to put together an experimental rendition of _Little Shop of Terrors_ , and I think you should come audition. With those glasses you already look like Seymour, which is good, because all the costume budget is going into the plant suit."

He releases my snout and I nod. "Okay. Yeah, I think I can do that... where, uh, what kind of space have you got? Is this a community thing, or is it a real..."

"It's a converted storefront on the old side of the Pack Street area, but the acoustics are pretty good. We've got about sixty seats and a pretty modest stage but it's a work in progress."

I take a long breath. It's not much, but it's a stage. A real stage, with lights, an audience, and ticket prices. "Yeah, okay. Just let me know when you're taking auditions, I guess, and I'll come by."

"All right. Just do everyone a favor and check your ego at the door. This isn't fucking Broadhoof."

I nod. "Okay, sure."

He nods in return. "Good. The director should be glad to hear that. Hopefully you're not like the last one we tried."

I almost wonder if I shouldn't ask, but the alcohol has pretty much turned that function off. "What happened with the last guy?"

Colin slouches a bit, setting one leg atop his other knee. He thinks quietly before I get an answer. "He took issue with some of the artistic choices we've made. How do you feel about nude scenes?"


	27. The Dragon's Heart

I scratch my head as I try to think of something. The set I'd planned isn't going over too well, I need to switch gears. "Okay, uh... language. We all know it, we all use it, and whether you know it or not it's running through your head _all the time_. Like the lady here in front, I can tell, she's got things on her mind right now. She's thinking, and without even trying, she's got words in her head. I'm gonna take a guess here, she's thinking to herself... 'I would never fuck this guy.'" A bit of laughter. "Am I close? If I'm wrong, don't correct me. Keep that to yourself. I mean... find me when the show's over." I take a few steps to the side. "Moving on to this guy over here. How's it going, buddy? You look like you're thinking something. Will you tell the class what's on your mind?" He shakes his head, smiling. "Okay, I'll take another guess. You're thinking... 'This guy sucks, bring the civet back out.'" I put a fist on my hip, indignant, and stare him down sarcastically. "Hey, man, I'm trying my best up here."

The crowd seems to have taken to this pretty well. Let's see if I can keep it going. "Now, I bring up language because it's something we've all got in common, but it brings a lot more with it than just words. Words are weird, when you think about it, because they're just _noises_ that get attached to thoughts. And those thoughts can change depending on all kinds of things. Where we are, what we're doing... even what _time_ it is. Or it can depend on who we're talking to!" I point to my mouth. "These words I'm saying, I had to _learn_ these sonofabitches. My dad speaks this language, but not the way you do here. I could come in here talking like him, and I'd probably... well, from what I've seen, I might get laid. I hear some women like a man with an accent, but they don't usually go for accents like his. I could copy my mom's accent, and you'd all laugh when I tried to say simple words."

"But going back to the words themselves, they can mean so many different things, and it gets confusing when you're not from around here. And phrases... just the words that come before and after one another can fuck you up. Early on when I first came here, I was in a bar trying to have a good time, you know. Like we all do. I'm talking to this girl, she's really fun, and _easily_ smarter than me. We were both pretty drunk at the time, which was probably the only reason she was talking to me." Another laugh. Okay, this is a self-deprecating humor crowd to be sure. "So we've been talking for a while, and she leans in close, and she whispers to me... and she asks if I'm 'hung like a horse.' Okay, that's a really weird phrase. Can we just agree on that? And I had _never_ heard it before, and I needed it to be explained to me. I mean, I've read a bit of history. I thought she was talking about slavery or something, because I can think of at least three historical horse-hangings, and none of them are fun conversation."

I take a sip of my drink. "But as you all probably know, she was asking if I'm..." I shrug, motioning toward my groin with my paws. "And not to leave you all in suspense, but... no, I think the term is 'good enough.' But she wasn't about to explain that to me. She just shook her head and left, leaving behind an empty cup, a tip for the bartender, and a lot of _really awkward_ questions as I was about to find out. So obviously I know what that means now. But the more I think about it, the stranger it gets. Can you imagine if I, or someone like me, _were_ hung like a horse? Okay, first off, you would fucking know the second you looked at me. It would be _bigger_ than me. Second, it would be useless, because my heart is about the size of my fist. It is _not_ built to support that kind of equipment. And third, can you imagine what that'd be like? No really, think about how horrible that would be." I lower my head and shoulders, speaking quietly into the microphone. "Aside from the motorized wheelchair I'd need - which, by the way, are TOTAL chick magnets, I'm sure - every time I saw an attractive woman, every time I saw any kind of advertisement with a model or a celebrity hawking something, or hell, every time a pleasant BREEZE rolled by, I'd fucking pass out due to low blood pressure."

 

Overall, it wasn't a bad show. It wasn't really a good one, but it wasn't a bad one. I'm walking back to my van, with Harry and Audie in tow, and goddamn it if they're not laughing at something.

"Reese! Dude! Oh fuck, I can't breathe, you- you tell him. It's your idea, you tell him... I gotta lie down!"

I watch as Harry lies down, on the sidewalk, under a streetlight. "Harry, you look like a trash bag."

"Oh fuck! Oh shit, man, I'm gonna- I should get you back for that, but I fucking can't..." he gasps, clutching his abdomen.

I shake my head and turn to Audie. "Okay, how much has he smoked already tonight? We're not even at his place yet, and he's fucking stoned?"

Audie has her paws clasped over her snout and tears welling in her eyes. "No, he hasn't... he hasn't smoked anything. I just thought of the bit you had about having a horse dong, and I thought, I pictured..." she nearly keels over with laughter, waving a paw. "Okay, okay, hang on... okay, so I thought... what if you did have that, or someone like you, right? And like, you got hard, and so you just fall down backwards and it's sticking up in the air..." Once again, she claps a paw over her snout to try to tame her chuckles.

"Uh huh, yeah, big dick in the air. Is that it?"

She shakes her head violently. "No, no, no! This is the best part. And then, I had the idea... I just imagined that scene, and then a stripper doing a little pole dance on it like a stripper pole!"

With that, she drops to her knees and laughs, clutching her gut like an extra in an alien movie. I think it over and give a shrug. "Yeah, that's funny, but wouldn't I- I mean, wouldn't the guy fall _forwards_ instead? Or was he carrying it over his shoulder like a musket, and just-"

She wipes a tear from her eye. "Oh, dude, you're _killing_ it. Not in the good way, I mean in the bad way. Why are you always so grouchy after a show?"

Harry pushes himself up into a seated position, shaking his head. "Dude, don't think into it, that just ruins the joke. You know what they say, explaining a joke is like dissecting a clown: sure, you know how it works, but now the clown's dead."

I run a paw over my head, staring at the sidewalk. "I don't know," I sigh. "I just use up all my fun or something, and I need time to rest. It's goddamn draining being up there, how do you two do it and _not_ need to lie down?"

Harry shrugs. "Because we're not asocial weirdos? You'll get better at it, man, trust me." He grunts, climbing to his feet. "You're already doing pretty good for how long you've been at it, dude, just have a little faith."

"Yeah, blind faith is what brought me to this fucking city. My mom tried to convince me to try living in Cowpenhagen so I'd at least be _sort of_ close, but no, I had to pin ALL my fucking hopes on this fucking nightmare of a city."

Audie claps a paw on my shoulder. "Hey, man, faith isn't so bad. _Sure_ , it gets you into shit sometimes, and _sure_ , it's the cause of most wars in history, but it's not all bad. For example, I had faith that if I climbed into your van drunk, things would be okay. And look at us now! We both had fun, and I didn't end up chained to a radiator."

Harry pulls his phone from his pocket and checks it briefly, looking to Audie. "Well _that_ was a weird sentence to hear. But hey, you two go on ahead, I'm gonna swing by the shop and check on something for Ed."

I look around, trying to figure our location. "You sure? I could drop you off, wait for you outside."

Harry shakes his head, patting his oversized belly. "Nah, I could use the walkin'. Besides, it gives me a chance to smoke alone without you freeloaders," he laughs.

Audie and I lean in towards each other, staring suspiciously. "Hey, do you believe in aliens?" she whispers, intentionally loud enough for him to hear.

"I don't know. Keep your eyes open for a zipper."

Harry waves a paw dismissively, turning in the opposite direction. "You dorks. Don't eat all my damn food, and don't touch my stash until I get there."

 

Audie and I get to Harry's apartment and climb lazily onto the couch. She picks up the remote and flips the TV on, surfing channels for something almost bearable. "Cripes, is there _nothing_ on? Sonofabitch... where's Harry keep his shit, we'll just apologize when he gets here."

I glance at her after a moment, pulling a pen from my teeth. "Huh? Sorry, I wasn't really listening. I have to figure this shit out, and I can't understand half of it."

"The hell are you doing, paperwork? Nerd. What've you got?"

I sigh and show her, pointing at a few things. "I've gotten through a bunch of it, but this shit... couple weeks ago, some cop stopped me and told me I needed to jump through all these fucking hoops. Get my van inspected and registered, get a license from the city, renew my fucking visa... I've got some of it done, but this is just tedious now."

She blinks and looks at me, quizzically. "You're on a visa?"

My response is a deadpan stare. "When have I ever opened my mouth and _not_ talked about not being from here? I'd have thought I'd beaten that into the ground by now, I'm surprised you guys don't call me out on it. What the fuck is an odo-meter?"

She puts a paw on the form, looking as I point. "That's _odometer_. It's the thing that tells you how far you've driven. You didn't know that? ...Wait, what do _you_ call it?" she asks, as the telltale tremolo of a laugh is made apparent in her voice.

I sigh. Why would this be funny? "I... I always called it a kilometer-counter. That's what it- that's what it does!" I protest, over her fit of chuckles. "Oh sorry, is that weird? You know, other languages don't make up a bunch of shit from Latin, they use their own words to describe things."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. But I really need to hear more of this shit, now I'm interested. What do you call, like... a chair?"

I cock my head, still staring at her. "Really? We basically call them stools, it's the same word."

She seems disappointed. "Oh. Really? That's... I guess it's interesting, but it's kind of boring."

"Well, pick another thing, I guess. That word isn't some Frankenstein's monster a bunch of dead fuckers stole from Latin or Greek."

She thinks for a moment. "Okay. Uh, what about computer? What do you call those?"

"Data machines."

She bursts into a chuckle. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"I guess. I never really thought about it, but computing is an actual thing, you know."

"Well you asked. I mean, I didn't make the word up." I groan as I look back at the form in my paws. "Goddamnit. I'll worry about this tomorrow, maybe Fedor can help me with it, he's been here a while... I should probably mail those other ones though."

"Fuck that. Lead me to Harry's stash, you can mail shit tomorrow."

I shrug and toss the forms onto my bag, hopping off the couch. "Yeah, all right. You know what, I think he has some stamps in there..." Audie follows me eagerly, curious to find what I'm sure she imagines to be a treasure trove of things that the government doesn't want us to have. It turns out a few of these things aren't allowed because they're just really, really fun. They have a point about a lot of them, because they can end up killing you, and I try to avoid those. _Obviously_ I make an exception for the legal vices that can still kill you like tobacco and alcohol, though sometimes I wish I didn't. Those two can take a good, long while to kill you. Maybe that's why they're allowed.

"Is this it?" she asks, almost hopping with anticipation as I pull a special book from a shelf. 'Brave New World' is the title, and I'm not sure if he was going for obvious or ironic when he chose to hollow this one out.

"Yeah. He keeps a lot of stuff in this, not all of it tasty. But I don't try to understand his reasons, for therein lies madness." I lay the book down and open it, handing Audie a bag of what Harry has labeled 'moonrocks.' Curiously, there's another bag of something entirely different that's also labeled 'moon rocks.' Well, I know what nip looks like, and the first one looks closer, so I'll leave that second one alone. I'll have to ask him how much difference a space makes. I keep digging past the arcade tokens, science fair ribbons, and shiny pebbles until I find what else I'm looking for: a plastic baggie of postage stamps. "No fucking clue why he keeps these in here. Weird habits, I guess."

Audie leads me by the paw into the main room and we climb back onto the couch. "Hey, get your weirdo pipe out and pack it up. I wanna try that thing."

"Yeah, gimme a second, criminy." I tear a stamp off the card and lick it, sticking it to one of several envelopes poking out of my bag. Or... wait. Why isn't it sticking? I lick it again, really getting it wet, and trying once more. "Goddamnit, what the fuck."

Audie watches with increasing boredom as I lick stamp after stamp, trying unsuccessfully to affix even one to its envelope. "Bad bunch of stamps?"

"Fucking... useless!" I toss the remaining stamps onto the floor and kick the soaked rejects in a fit of frustration. "Should have known they were crap when they didn't taste like ass. ...Shit, I hope those weren't valuable or anything, but he never said anything about collecting stamps, did he?"

"Nah, not to me. You gonna pack up a bowl or what?"

I take a deep breath and think for a moment. "Nah, not just yet. Think I'll go grab some snacks or something, wanna come with?"

She falls backward with a groan, lying motionless on the couch. "Ugh, I guess I'll just stay here and wither away of boredom."

"A 'no' would work too, you know."

She raises a paw and points a stern finger at the ceiling. "Sour cream and onion. If you come back with just salt and vinegar, I'm gonna kick your ass."

I jump off the couch with a grunt and head out the door, shuffling down the hall and toward the stairs.

 

Harry eventually arrives home, scratching his gut as he trundles in the door. "Oh hey, Audie. Anything good on?"

Audie blinks slowly, her eyes glazed over as she stares at the garbage on TV. "Fucking nothing. You see Reese on your way here? He went for snacks, like, half an hour ago."

Harry looks around, noticing my bag and my absence. "Huh. No, I didn't. Maybe he's still on his way, he's got little tiny legs."

She lifts herself to a seated position from the slouch she'd fallen into and stares at him. "His legs aren't _that_ short. The corner store's four blocks from here."

Harry shrugs. "I guess we could look for him if you're worried, just gimme a minute to rest my feet." He hoists himself onto the couch and sits back, flexing and stretching his toes. "Oohhhh man, that's better... so what'd you guys get up to before he left?"

"Oh, he was going on about some shit he's got to fill out and mail in. All that paper there by his bag, whole bunch of it."

"Oh yeah, he told me about that. Did he tell you how he got out of, like, five tickets?"

"Shit no he didn't! What the hell happened?!"

"Okay, well, he was driving Asa and the girls to a gig, and this cop pulls them over on the expressway for driving under the limit."

"Wait, for driving _under_ the limit?"

"Yeah, there's a minimum. Anyway, the cop was a hyena, so he said he got over his fucking cop-fear and started pulling out the shittiest one-liners, I mean real _stinkers_. He told me a couple of them, but I can't really remember them right now, on account of how I'm lightly toasted."

Audie laughs. "Holy shit, that's insane. The cop let him off just for being funny? That actually _happens?_ "

Harry shrugs. "I guess! At least if you find a tired hyena near the end of his shift, anyway. Dude let him off, but had to give him warnings about the van and his license or something."

She sighs. "Yeah. He seemed pretty annoyed by all the fucking paperwork, and that was _before_ he found out your stamps don't work."

Harry blinks, thinking that over for a moment. "I have stamps?"

"...Yeah, we... well, he found them in your stash. We didn't start smoking anything without you, but those things are probably way old, right? I guess the glue doesn't last," she chuckles.

His face goes blank. "What stamps."

"Well, the... those ones there on the floor, with the smiley faces."

Harry turns slowly and stares at the stamps. "Oh shit, I forgot about those."

Audie shrugs, giving a chuckle. "Yeah, that makes sense. When was the last time you or anyone mailed anything?"

He laughs. "Right?" His expression drops immediately and he says very flatly, "But we should go looking for him now, those aren't stamps."

It takes a second before Audie connects the dots. "Oh fuck, that's acid, isn't it."

"Yeah. He's probably on fucking Saturn right now."

 

Audie skids to a halt in front of the corner store, scanning the horizon. Harry wheezes as he catches up, leaning against the wall under the slowly-lightening sky. "HOLY FUCK. Oh shit... I'm sure he's not in so much danger you gotta... give me a fuckin' heart attack..."

Groaning in frustration, she dashes into the store and faces the clerk. "HEY, we're looking for a red guy, a little smaller than me, should have come through here a while ago. Round glasses, probably had a look on his face like he hates everything and everyone all over the world. You see him?"

The clerk opens his eyes slowly, barely registering that he's not alone. He rubs his face with a tired groan and yawns. "What... red guy? Uh, yeah, maybe. Bought a few bags of Beetle Bites or something."

Audie slams her paws on the counter, stretching her neck out to get as close to the coyote's face as she can. "How long ago? Did you see which way he went?!"

Harry shuffles into the store and reaches into a cooler, grabbing a bottle of water and pouring it into his mouth and over his face.

"Uh... iunno. How long was I asleep?" he mumbles, offering a shrug.

"Goddamnit... Harry, we gotta keep looking."

"Hey, you gotta pay for that wa-" he trails off, interrupted by a yawn as they leave the store.

"Shit. Can you see him or smell him or anything? I don't see- wait!" he shouts, pointing into the distance at what looks like a snack package. Audie scrambles over and inspects it, motioning at Harry to hurry.

"Come on, I think we're on the right track! Look. Beetle Bites, brand new bag, unopened, salt and vi- eugh! Goddamnit, I told him sour cream and-"

"Hey, dude said he bought a few. You think he dropped more?"

She blinks. "Oh, right. Good thinking." She squints, gazing into the distance and yelping in surprise as she sees something.

"Shit, you see another one?"

"No, but Discount Discs is having a sale on used games and movies this weekend. I'm gonna have to get there early!"

"Dude!"

"FUCK, right. You look that way, I'll look this way!" She rushes off along the road, searching frantically for any sign. "FUCK!" She runs back, frustrated at her luck, and finds Harry walking back eating a bag of cheddar Beetle Bites.

"I found another bag. ...What, I'm starving! You think I can search on an empty stomach? I got the hunger of the beast over here, I told you I'm already half-baked."

She sighs, rubbing her brow. "Okay, just... was it this way? Yeah? Okay, I'm gonna go this way, you just... follow along at your own pace." With a light growl she sets off, putting personal dignity aside and scampering on all fours to cover more ground. A bag! Sour cream and onion, just like she'd asked! "I found another one!" she hollers over her shoulder, scanning the distance again with her head on a swivel. "A few bags... shit, I guess that's all three. Come on, you Hansel and Gretel motherfucker, where's the next breadcrumb?"

Harry trundles over, dumping the crumbs from his bag into his mouth. "Man, why'd he grab the small size? I'm a big boy, I need a big bag." He crumples the bag and squints, tilting his head. "What's that over there?"

With less speed than before, but no less urgency, they arrive at what seems to be another clue. "What the... is that his shirt? Why the fuck would he take his shirt off?"

Harry thinks for a moment. "Oh. If he's on way too much acid, which he _probably_ is, he's gonna be feeling pretty warm. That, or it's like when we did shrooms in the park he took all his clothes off... that might be a thing with him."

"Oh, for the love of... okay, if you were freaked the fuck out on acid and didn't know it, where would you go?"

"...Who, me? Or Reese? Because we'd probably have different reactions, it doesn't hit everyone the same."

"AAAAAARGH! Try to _work_ with me here! He could be a road waffle by now for all we know!"

"Oh, okay. Uh, I'd probably... run like fuck. These last two bags and his shirt were all in a straight line, right? We should probably just keep going that way. There's a... oh shit, there's a park with a pond that way, you think he smelled the water or something?"

She shrugs. "It's as good a fucking guess as we've got! Come on!" She runs off down the street, shouting back at Harry after a couple blocks. "I think I just passed his pants! Grab those when you get here!"

"Son of a bitch, why's he gotta take off all his shit? If he's naked when we find him, I'm fuckin' telling everybody forever..."

 

The two arrive, one after the other - one several minutes after the other, actually - at Flanders Park, named for the boulevard it sits on, in an area not quite as nice as Flock Street's impeccably-preened gardens but far prettier than Pack Street's shady and worn-in brick. A pleasant oasis of green in a neighborhood defined by mid-level concrete apartment buildings, you're sure to find a place just right for you on Flanders Boulevard. Or so says the real estate ads in every newspaper. Trimmed grass, colorful flowers, and well-maintained bushes all lead to a wide, friendly pond in the center of the park.

"Shit. Shit, I don't see him. Do you see anything? Fuck, do you smell fish and disappointment anywhere?" Audie asks, desperation cracking her voice as she looks around frantically.

Harry points toward a picturesque swan, paddling swiftly across the pond, with its wings raised and its head lowered. "Holy shit, I didn't know they had a swan here."

"Goddamnit, we're not here on a birdwatching trip! We're looking for... OH FUCK."

From the opposite shore comes a screeching war cry, swiftly mingled with the sounds of an angry swan. Harry claps his paws over his face. "Oh goddamnit, what _is_ it with him and birds?! Fuck, run. Run! I don't know how this is gonna end, but we're getting him the fuck out of here!"

With a beat of its mighty wings, the dragon sends the barbarian flying, landing roughly in a heap on the rough earth. "FOOL!" it roars, gnashing its teeth in anger. "No mammal can slay me. Many have died before you, and many will die after your death has been forgotten!" Rising to its full height, the beast shrieks as it charges again.

It was months ago he set himself along this path. Hired to accompany a caravan carrying spices and delicacies across a dark and desolate land, it was an easy payment he was seeking - not a fight against a dragon. But a fire burns in him, and such trials flock to it like moths to a candle. Gripping his spear tightly, the warrior rises to his feet and faces his foe. "Demon beast, your final breath shall be a wail of pain as I pull your heart from your breast!" he spits, rolling aside to dodge a deadly bite from the winged horror.

All his years had built to this. The pits in which he'd grown, fighting at first beasts and then those he'd known as friends simply to earn his daily gruel... the slavery he'd endured at the paws of the great serpent's followers, the harrowing battles against the pirates of the Ebon Paw, and the constant struggle to maintain his freedom from powerful mammals so many times his size had trained him well. With a well-placed swing the butt of his spear strikes the dragon's head, deflecting it over him and leaving its bare breast exposed to one final, desperate thrust to the heart!

Tumbling towards the caldera below, he releases his spear and leaps away, clinging to a stone for his life. The dragon utters its final curse and plunges into the lake of fire, shrieking as the lava burns the unholy flesh from its bones. "It is done..." He gasps for breath, looking to the star-spackled sky above. "CRON! If you hear me... return her to me! Or by my blood I will come to you myself, and I will take your heart to replace my own!" He drops to his knees, tears falling on the barren ground below him. "Valkyria... my love! Return her to me! Return her..."

Harry swallows, carefully sidling up to his friend. "Uh... dude, can you hear me?"

Ragnor springs to his feet, facing the intruder. "Stand and deliver, sneak! You will not find easy prey in a barbarian!"

"Oh fuck, dude, just calm down... none of it's real, just take a deep breath. You okay? You all right, Reese?" he mutters softly, paws outstretched in front of him. "It's me, it's Harry. It's okay, come over here and we'll get you home, yeah?"

"Home? My home is where I stand. What god or king do you serve, thief?"

Audie groans, resting a palm on her face. "Oh for fuck's sake... Harry, he thinks he's Ragnor the Barbarian. That line comes straight out of the fucking books."

"Shit, are you serious?! Goddamnit. Uh, okay... uh, noble barbarian, King... uh, King Kong would have your audience in his castle among the cliffs of... Apartmentia. Will you honor him with your presence?"

Ragnor narrows his blacksome eyes and looks over this messenger of Kong. "...I will meet your king, and hear his words. But you must-" Ragnor freezes, staring in shock at the apparition behind the messenger. "Valkyria... VALKYRIA?!" Pushing the fatsome castle-jockey aside, he rushes to the appearance of his beloved, taking her in his arms with no further thought.

"AH FUCK, HE'S GOT ME! GET HIM OFF, HE'S GOT... HE'S GOT ACID-STRENGTH OR SOMETHING!"

Harry pulls her from my grasp, firmly imprisoning me under an arm and rushing from the park. "Move! Fuckin' joggers are gonna show up any minute now, we don't wanna be seen with that dead goddamn swan! Fuck, what is it with him and birds, man?"

"I don't know... I don't care, I just want to smoke this night away, can we do that?"

"Well, one of us is gonna have to keep an eye on the fucking dragon slayer here."

"Okay, yeah, why don't you handle the cosmic wanderer? I'll be smoking on the couch if you need me to sit there and do nothing."

Harry sighs. "Goddamnit, all right. Just grab his feet, he keeps kicking me on the ass."


	28. A Moveable Feast

"I'm gonna crash on..." Audie looks around slowly, pointing a finger for her drooping eyes to follow. "I'm... yeah, this right here," she mumbles, patting the very couch she's sitting on.

Harry rubs his face with a yawn. "Okay. You want me to wake you up if Reese comes to?"

She shrugs. "I guess. But just so I can see his face when you tell him what happened, then let me go back to sleep."

"Yeah, all right." Harry slides off the couch and waddles tiredly to his bedroom door, kicking aside some old food containers. He slowly opens the door and peeks in, careful not to make too much noise or present too tempting a target. It wouldn't be the first time today he'd been attacked by his 'prisoner,' now lying motionless in his tiny cell. An overturned milk crate weighed down with years of accumulated comic books isn't a prison cell. It's certainly not a _dungeon_ , no matter what anyone in this room may have said.

He closes the door behind him and steps over lightly, crouching low to get a closer look. "Hey, dude." He speaks softly, almost half-whispering as he approaches. "Yo, you in there, Reese? I got, uh... I got a nice can of tuna if you're hungry."

A small, red ear twitches and the captive yawns, trying to stretch. "Wh- what the... what the hell? Harry, what the fuck is... is this some kind of prank, man?"

"OH thank GOD. Dude, this morning's been a fucking _nightmare_ , like you'll never believe the shit that went down." Harry starts removing boxes of comics from atop the crate, eager to free his friend.

Finally out from under my plastic cage, I stretch fully and rub my sore neck. And my sore shoulder... what the fuck, where am I _not_ sore? The fuck did I do this morning? "Goddamn, I fucking hurt all over... what the fuck went on, why am I in my boxers?" I squint, looking around. "You seen my glasses anywhere?"

Harry falls onto his butt, releasing a profound sigh. "Dude. You're gonna wanna sit down for this."

"And you're gonna wanna get me that can of tuna you mentioned, holy fuck am I hungry. What the hell happened, man? I can't remember a goddamn thing, but... dude." I turn to Harry, holding my paws out like an over-excited nature show host. "I had the most amazing fucking dream."

He nods. "Uh huh. Why don't you tell me about it?"

In hindsight, there was a definite tone to his voice that I should have picked up on. That kind of tone where he knows something I don't, and in a few minutes he'll be rolling on the floor laughing at me. Harry's a bit of a prankster at times, but if you know him well, you can tell from his voice that he's waiting for a trap to spring.

"Okay. You ever read the old Ragnor the Barbarian books? I think they made a bunch of them into comics, you must have seen some in your life. Well I fucking _was_ him. And I don't know if it's that nip from last night, but it felt fucking REAL, man! Like it actually happened! Dude, there was this... I was with some caravan, and I was a bodyguard, and I went for fucking _months_ across the whole world, and I... I killed a _dragon_ at the end, man, it was fucking unbelievable!" I look back to him, squinting to make out his expression. He's... why's he laughing? "What? What's funny?"

Harry shakes his head. "Nothing... that sounds awesome, dude. Hey, did anything else happen? Like your old lady came back to life, or you got put in a dungeon?"

I blink, looking away and thinking. "Yeah... yeah, what the fuck, dude, how'd you know? Oh shit, was I talking in my sleep again? Man, I'm sorry, I-"

He bursts into laughter, falling onto his back and rolling.

Well, now I feel embarrassed. I don't know why I feel embarrassed, but I know he's laughing _at_ me and not _with_ me right now. "Okay... all right, laugh it up, fuzzball, what the fuck's so funny?"

Audie pokes her head in. "Hey, Sir Laughs-a-lot, some of us are tryin' to fucking sleep out here, you mind keeping it- oh hey, _Ragnor_. You all lucid and shit now?"

"Why did... okay, is one of you going to fucking tell me what the fuck's going on? What goddamn time is it, anyway?"

 

I sit on the couch between my friends, looking at a pile of what I thought to be postage stamps. "So wait, I licked all of these, thinking they were stamps, and I disappeared?"

"Well, you left to get snacks. Then Harry got home and it seemed weird that he beat you here."

"And then what?"

"And then I told Harry everything that happened before you left, and he said they weren't fucking stamps."

"Because they're acid."

"Yeah. They're acid."

"Okay. Then what?"

Harry scratches his belly. "Then we had to go find your red ass out in the city. I don't know what the fuck was going through your head, but when we found you, you were fighting a fucking swan in Flanders Park."

I scratch my head. "Fighting a sw- what? And where did my clothes go?"

"Oh, dude, we found those. You kinda left a trail of Beetle Bites bags and your clothes for us to follow, it was pretty convenient."

Audie nods. "No idea where your glasses went, though. You've got a spare set, right?"

"Yeah, but they suck," I gripe. "Fuck me, isn't that just perfect? I lose my good pair when I need to go in for a driver's license. Bet they cost three hundred dollars here, goddamnit..." I sigh. "That pair was a few years old. I probably needed to get my prescription checked anyway, but fuck, I didn't need _this_."

Harry picks up the remote control. "Well, we could probably go follow your path, see if we find 'em." He turns on the TV, searching for something brainless and colorful to watch.

I groan, dropping my face into my paws. "Fuuuuuuuuuck... I have to work tonight too, I need to be able to see what I'm doing!"

"Chill out man, we'll figure something out. Hell, they're probably in that park, that swan probably knocked them right off of your-"

The TV grabs our attention, with a program much louder than the commercials (figure that out, right?) " _A CITY IN SHOCK! A MORNING OF MOURNING!_ For more information, we turn to our anchor, Kurt Ramstein!"

A somber, square sheep in a suit turns to face the camera. "Greetings Zootopia, I'd say 'good morning' but..." he sighs a fake sigh, "...that would be inappropriate. If you've been following our top story today, you surely know why. Only hours ago it was discovered that, overnight, Simon the Swan - beloved symbol of the city and honorary Park Warden of Flanders Park - was murdered, in a horrifying attack we're calling _Brutality on the Boulevard_." A picture of a swan drops into the top-right corner of the screen, quickly framed by a set of bloody cartoon fangs as a stock growl sound effect plays.

"Residents all over the city have been calling in, expressing their disbelief that such a heinous attack could have happened, especially in the Flanders Boulevard neighborhood, long thought to be an oasis of peace in an ever-violent and crime-infested city. Many are shocked, many are stunned, and many... are simply asking why. For more, we turn to our city hall correspondent, Allison Paca. Welcome to the studio, Allie."

The camera pans to the right, showing an overdressed alpaca who nods and begins to bleat in a voice so nasal and annoying that claws on a chalkboard would be a welcome respite. "Thank you, Kurt. Well, I've been talking with city hall all day, and unfortunately, there's just nothing they're saying! It's really a shame that they either don't care enough or can't handle the job, but a lot of mammals want to know what's happening to our city!"

"Now, Allie, has city hall made any statement regarding the murder?" he asks, putting on so concerned a look that it's a wonder his brow doesn't just eat the rest of his face.

She shakes her head. "Not of any substance, they haven't! Just a canned response about how 'saddened' they are, and how they're 'looking into' the 'situation.'" I can't make out much, but if she makes air-quotes one more time I'm driving to that station and gnawing her hooves off.

"And has there been any reaction from the ZPD?" Dear god, this shovel-jawed fuck couldn't act his way through a puppet show for toddlers. _Blind_ toddlers! They'd be throwing bottles and fruits at the stage, but they wouldn't be hitting anything. Their arms just aren't strong enough yet. And also they can't aim.

"Well the ZPD have been a lot more on-the-ball than city hall. They already have detectives on the scene and have made a preliminary statement, but a lot of citizens want more than vague promises, they want a _suspect_ and they want _justice_."

"Allie, we're going to go now to a recording of the ZPD's spokesmammal."

A tired-looking deer walks up to a lectern and taps a microphone, checking its function before obviously reading from a prepared statement. "Good morning. As you're all aware there has been a very irregular crime committed early today, and the ZPD is doing everything in its power to find the facts and to deliver justice. Already we have dispatched officers to the scene, and are collecting both material and forensic evidence as well as eyewitness testimony." The video cuts from the studio to a group of very bored police officers milling about in a park, trying to fish a dead swan out of a pond, and dropping a small pair of round glasses into a plastic bag. "We wish to ensure the citizens of Zootopia that we have this under control, we are monitoring other waterfowl in the area, and we are already narrowing our list of suspects."

A gaggle of reporters clamor for the spokesmammal's attention, begging to be chosen. Eventually one is picked, and they squeak their question at so irritating a pitch that I'm amazed the TV didn't just blow its speakers out from the pain. "Is the suspect a predator?!"

The spokesmammal waves a hoof and shakes his head. "We're not prepared to make a statement regarding the suspect's species or any identifying features. Yes, you."

Another reporter lows a question. "Is this at all related to the recent crisis?"

Again, the spokesmammal shakes his head. "It is the informed opinion of the ZPD as well as the courts and every agency involved that the recent crisis has ended and is not related to any other occurrences within the city."

The video cuts back to the studio, and Kurt hums thoughtfully. Or he would, if there existed a single thought in that empty skull of his. "Well, Allie, the ZPD seems to be making a strong effort to say that the murderer was not a predator. Do you have an opinon?"

"I certainly do, Kurt. It's been told to Flocks News by a contact _within_ the ZPD - speaking under condition of anonymity - that the murderer is _definitely_ a predator, and that they are _definitely_ still on the loose, and they will _definitely_ strike again. I just want to ask the idiots in city hall, what do you think it is you _do_ here? You have a city recoiling in horror, you have an obvious culprit, and we citizens have no leadership to look to for help. This is the kind of thing that a neighborhood just might not recover from, Kurt!"

He nods in affirmation before looking back to the camera. "Absolutely. There you have it, a city in horror, a murderer on the loose, and leaders who refuse to act - in the words of one viewer, 'I don't know if I will ever... feel safe again.' A feeling that this reporter thinks... we all share right now."

The three of us sit, silent, as a commercial for gold coins and hearing aids interrupts the broadcast.

I clear my throat. "Uh, Harry... about that dragon. Was that..."

Harry sniffs. "Yyyeahh, uh, would you be mad if I said I'm never letting you do psychedelics again? No offense dude, shit just kinda goes off the rails."

I try to swallow, but my dry throat won't have it. "Yeah, no, that sounds... I think I'll be fine without."

 

I sit quietly on the couch for a couple episodes of... something, I don't know. I don't care. It's not hard to find something on at noon that's better than Flocks News. Frankly, it's not hard to find anything on at _any_ time that's better than Flocks News. I had to stop watching it because it was hurting my brain. Also I'm not living with Harry, so I don't have a TV, but you know what I mean. "Fuck. They're gonna figure this out, man."

Harry turns to me, struggling to pull his eyes off the screen. "Huh? Who's gonna?"

"Dude, they've got the cops on this. The fucking cops, dude. Not just cops, but _the_ cops, the fucking ZPD, the biggest and most successful... they're gonna fucking find me! Fuck, they're gonna find you guys too, and all for a fucking swan?"

Harry blows a raspberry, dismissing my concerns. "Man, nobody's coming for you. Real life isn't like those crime scene shows, that's all fucking bullshit. What are they gonna find? Maybe a couple hairs, but lots of critters have red fur. And they're not gonna get prints off a fucking stick, I'll tell you that."

Audie chimes in, trying to help. "Yeah! What, you think they're gonna get a face print off your glasses, too?"

"Wait, off my... they have my fucking glasses?!"

She lifts a finger, but shuts her mouth before anything else bad comes out.

Harry sighs. "Oh, yeah, that video of the park, some cop picked up some little round glasses and put 'em in a bag. Shit, you probably didn't see it because you don't have your glass... es..." he trails off, putting his foot in his mouth as well.

"Shit." An outstanding observation from Audra.

"I'm fucked. Holy shit, I'm _fucked_." I hop off the couch and start pacing, nervously. "They're going to figure this out, they've probably got my hair on file or something. I have a fucking arrest record, I'm fucked! They're gonna lead me through the street in a gibbet and throw me in jail, and then they're gonna deport me to fucking Luxembourg even though I'm not fucking _from_ there..."

Harry puts a paw on his head. "Dude! Calm down, would you? You're overreacting like you always do, just give the drama king act a rest and we'll talk about it."

"What's a gibbet?"

"It's not important, Audie, but I think it's something to do with... gravy, or something. The point is that nobody's coming for you, dude, so just sit down. Hey, are you hungry? You always get moody and shit when your hungry."

"But he's always moody."

"Yeah, and I bet he's always hungry! Why don't you say something helpful?" Harry snaps, throwing his paws in the air.

"Oh, okay, uh... hey, dude, why don't you and I go get something to eat? I bet you're starving, yeah?"

"No, I'm _not_ hungry, I feel like I'm gonna be sick! Why can't either of you see what's going on here?!" I snarl.

Audie growls quietly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You know what I keep hearing? ' _I'm Reese's tummy, and I'm all empty after a crazy morning of acid and barbarism Won't you please put something tasty in me?_ '" She hops off the couch and puts an arm around my shoulders, leading me to the door. "You gotta read through the lines sometimes, even when it's your own goddamn mouth. Okay?" She looks back to Harry, briefly. "Thanks for the smoke, man. And hey, if you can get some more of that, let me know, all right?"

She leads me out the door and down the stairs, trying to calm me down as I stumble around with my paws over my face. "Hey, come on, it's not like you killed some- well, birds aren't folks, you know? I bet they're just putting on a show for the panicky prey that watch Flocks. You really think they're gonna investigate a _swan?_ Swans aren't shit, a swan is just a goose in a suit. They're garbage animals if you get to know them, really."

"This isn't really helping," I comment, pulling my paws away for long enough to make sure she sees my furrowed brow.

" _Ugh_ , you're so serious. Come on, let's hop in your van, find your spare glasses, and find something to eat. I promise you'll feel better with something in you. You got any preference? I'm thinking La Cucaracha. Get me a bean and beetle burrito."

I sigh through my nose. "Oh yeah, that sounds good. That way I can go to jail _and_ have diarrhea! Can this day get any better?!"

" _Fuck_ , you're difficult sometimes, you know that? Get in the fucking van, dude, I'm starving."

 

I dig through my things and find my old pair of glasses. The lenses aren't the right prescription anymore, they're covered in scratches, and the frame is mostly glue and wire at this point, but they're better than nothing. Fuck, I hope I can drive in these. "Holy shit it's bright out. You sure we can't just stay here? I've got food in the back, you know."

"Uh-uh. If we stay in the nerdmobile you'll just get all sad, I know it. So fire up that engine and set sail for south of the border, okay?" She plops herself down on the passenger seat, poking at her phone.

I sigh. Where the hell did my sunglasses go? Haven't seen those things in weeks, and I can't afford regular glasses let alone a pair of shades. Fuck. "You're sure you'd rather go to La Cucaracha? I mean, I have _booze_ in the back. Last I checked, they didn't sell alcohol in fast food joints."

"Hmm. Tempting, but I think I'll wait. What kind of food do you have in here that's not fish, anyway?"

"It's..." goddamnit. "It's all fish, but there's different _kinds_ of-"

"It all tastes like fish, dude!"

"It doesn't taste- it doesn't taste the same! I've got different kinds of fish, I've got fish preserved and prepared in different ways, I've got-"

"You've got _fish_ , dude, and I want fake ethnic food. Okay? Look, order whatever you'd like, I'll foot the bill. Take a break from fish once in a while."

I grumble as I pull out into traffic. "I _like_ fish."

"...Yeah. I know."

Goddamnit. Fucking daytime traffic, fucking bright-ass sun... fucking broken-ass glasses. Can barely see shit. "Hey, if I crash into somebody, I'm blaming you. Is that cool? I mean, I suggested we just hang out in the back, we could've just smoked and drank and eaten the stuff I've got-"

"God, dude, what's with all the bitching? Go back to being a barbarian or something, you know, minus all the stabbing and shit. That was fucking unbelievable."

I run a paw down the side of my face. "Uh, if you could not mention that at all for the next... I don't know, several months, maybe ten years that'd be cool with me. After that, go ahead... I don't care, use it in a set. Just as long as I'm not in jail or they've stopped looking."

She laughs. "Aw, come on, _Ragnor_. When did he ever run from the cop- I mean from the city guard?"

"Book four, _The Silken Hair_."

"Bullshit! That was a feint to lure them into a trap, he wasn't _running_."

I glance to her for a split-second before putting my eyes back on the road. "What the, that... okay, book eleven, _The Majesty's Privates_. The chapter in the castle courtyard."

"Pff. Those were bodyguards, not city watch. And yeah, he needed to face them one-on-one because their amulets divided any damage between them within twenty cubits. Still not running awa-"

"GODDAMNIT I AM NOT A BARBARIAN. I'm an ACTOR, and a writer, and a comedian, and I'm not really successful and any of those things. Okay? I'm not the jester who discovers a deeply-hidden well of courage within himself, I'm the bitter fisherman who yearns for something more glamorous but knows he'll die in a dingy, flea-infested bed if the storm waves don't take him first." I grip the wheel and huff, listening to the sudden and uncomfortable silence. "It's... I'm not a fighter, I've never been Ragnor. I had any fight beaten out of me years ago by dickhead bullies, but ever since a few months ago, I..." I pull over and heave the brake lever, sitting down. "I don't fucking know. Do you think there's still _real_ predatory instinct in us? I think about that sometimes."

She's quiet for a moment. "You know what I think?"

"If you say 'I think you need a burrito,' I might just throw you into traffic."

She cackles. "I was gonna say you think too much, _dick_. But it's true, you do need a fucking burrito and that's just a fact."

"Look, can I just eat what I've got? I don't like spicy food."

"Dude, they don't make shit that's spicy here unless you put the ¡El Diablo! sauce on it."

"No, the fucking food itself is spicy!"

"God, what kind of food did you grow up- no wait, I know the answer, it was fucking fish. Didn't you have any spices?"

"We had some herbs that grew there, but windy-salty-rocky-rainy-shitty doesn't grow a lot besides weedy herbs and grass everywhere. Spices had to be shipped over, and there weren't a lot of ships coming, because there's not a lot of business and there's not a lot of value besides the fish."

"Fuck, I feel bad for you now. Variety is the spice of life, and spice is... spice is the... see, it's _that_ fucking important, that there's no way to describe it! It just is!"

"All right, fine, let's just go in. Go get your goddamn burrito and... fuck, I'll have whatever's weakest. As long as it's not fucking fruit or something."

 

I sit in a tiny booth, opposite Audie, and stare at the wax paper-wrapped, ethnic-inspired food product in front of me. I don't know what the idea behind this place was. I've never had the food it's based off of, but I hear from everyone I know that it's not _this_. How, do they stay in business? Every mention of La Cucaracha is followed immediately by allusions of dire urgency, harrowing expulsions, and painful aftermath. Everybody I know claims these are exaggerations of comical intent, but I know the truth. By the gods, I know the truth, because I've _lived_ it.

"Aren't you gonna eat? I paid money for that."

I look up at her from the pitiful object in front of me, so small and alone on that plastic tray that probably came from a prison. "Isn't the phrase, 'I paid good money for that?'"

She shrugs. "If it was good money, I would have spent it on something better."

"See?" I laugh, motioning to her with both paws. "Even you, as you're _eating_ it, admit that it's not good food. Why does anyone eat here if they don't like it?"

"Those are jokes, dude, we've told you. Everyone talks shit about Bug Burga and we eat _there_. It's the same thing here, just with a different flavor," she chuckles.

I grunt and unwrap my 'meal.' "It looks like a turd."

" _You_ look like a turd. Eat up."

Despite my misgivings, I am hungry, and at least tortillas are almost familiar to me. I never ate it much, but flatbread was common enough back home, this is just... a slightly different form. I pick it up and bite in, telling myself it's actually food as I chew.

Audie sips her drink and speaks up. "You know, the more I think about it, what happened in that park was pretty badass."

I choke down my half-chewed mouthful, unhappy with this course of conversation. "Can we not talk about that? We're in public," I whisper. " _Anyone_ could be listening."

She laughs, almost snorting. "Dude, you're not a spy, why are you so freaked out? You think there's a trench-coated spook in the booth behind you with a microphone in his hat?"

"No, I think there's a lot of mammals who care entirely too much about a goddamn bird. What even _are_ birds, really? If they've been around so long, why aren't _they_ in charge, huh? They're stupid, who cares what happens to a fucking bird?"

"See, now you're getting it! Most folks think the same thing, who cares? I told you they're just putting on a show so nobody freaks out. You're fine."

I sigh, going back to my burrito.

"I gotta say, though. You're no wolf, but you make a pretty good Ragnor."

I take my time chewing this time before I swallow. "So, about earlier. You wasted as much of your time as a kit reading those, too?"

"As a kit? I _still_ read Ragnor sometimes. I had a huge crush on him growing up, he's fucking awesome."

"Seriously? You're probably the first girl I've ever met who's admitted having a crush on someone from a book."

She laughs, almost coughing up a mouthful of fake Mexican food. "What, am I the _only_ girl you've ever talked to?"

"No, but you are the only one I've ever talked to about Ragnor."

"Dude. I buttered my biscuit _so many times_ reading those books."

I keep going with my food, pondering that. "Yeah, I used to eat ate dried fish while I read. My grandma thought that was why I got so big, because I read and ate so much."

Audie drops her burrito and covers her mouth, bracing herself against the table as tears well in her eyes.

"What? Oh shit, did you break a tooth or something?"

She shakes her head slowly, quietly whimpering through both a mouthful of food and her paw.

I shrug and resume eating, but carefully. If she bit into something bad, I could be next.

A moment later she's recomposed herself, staring at me as though I've missed out on some big joke. "You, uh... you didn't understand that at all, and I just want you to know that's so funny I almost pissed myself."

"Understand what? Is this some inside joke you guys never told me about?"

"No, I mean when I said I buttered my biscuit to those books. You know, pushed my button?" She cocks her head as I shake my head again. "Really? Knick-knacked my paddywhack? Made god cry?"

I stare at her as she succumbs to fits of laughter, growing ever more curious. "Look, I'm really tired right now, is this something I _really_ need to learn?"

She nods her head furiously. "Oh fuck, what's another... went fishing alone?"

I jerk in a moment of shocked understanding, squeezing my burrito and sending a stream of sour cream onto the tray in front of me. This only raises the volume of her laughter.

"OH GOD, I'm telling absolutely everyone about this. Shit! Shit, I'm gonna take a picture!"

"LIKE FUCK!" I eat the rest of my food and wad up the wrapper, ruining her photo-op and glaring at her with a burrito sticking out of my mouth.

"Aw, you're no fun."

I grip the table and choke it down, shuddering as the mass hits my stomach. "And you're fucking _crazy_."

"Yeah, well I'm not joking when I say you put on a good Ragnor."  
  
You could hear a gnat fart in the silence that follows. I almost jump when I make the connection. "Oh shit. Wait, are you suggesting something?"

She claps a paw over her face. "It took you _that_ long?"


	29. Merchandising

I squint against the wind, shielding my eyes from the setting sun. The towering spires in the distance seem to dance like flames with the heat coming off the ground. The imperial capital city, seat of the Uxhapaz emperor and his hoard of treasure... objects of such craftsmanship and value that the smallest candlestick's price could feed and house a family for a generation. This barren, baked land is a trial in itself but is nothing compared to the storied ferocity of the Uxhapaz imperial guardsmen. More dangerous still are the vixen guard, the emperor's personal protectors, each of them trained from childhood and bound to him with a zealous, obsessive love.

The fanaticism and strength with which they guard this city and its ruler are a challenge to me, and the tale of their humiliation shall spread across the world. With the sun setting and the air cooling, I resume traveling. Hiding in holes dug out by larger creatures, some possibly decades old, seemed at first cowardly to me, as something only a scavenger or a beggar would do. I quickly learned this was foolish pride. The sun here is a burning eye whose gaze must be avoided, for where it looks, death comes swiftly to the traveler. I slide down a rocky slope, hissing at the brambles and cacti that seem to reach out as I pass, eager to share the pain of this place. At the bottom a lizard pokes its head out of a hole. I snatch it by the neck and look it over as my stomach growls. Hunger, they say, is the most potent spice in the world...

"Dude," the lizard speaks. "Wake up."

Though its voice be but a whisper, it carries a sense of great urgency. And a strange power... I feel as though the earth is shaking with each word it utters, and a feeling of unease stabs through me.

"Dude, seriously! Wake _up!_ " Audie hisses, shaking me by the shoulders.

"Nei, ek vil svefn..." I mutter, only barely aware of the world around me.

She draws back a paw and swats me soundly on the head, whispering angrily. "GET. UP."

I hiss and grumble, rubbing my head. Okay, situation check. Location: van. Status: naked. Privacy: compromised. We're practically wound around each other like two pieces of rope, lying nude on top of a pile of... better give this a sniff test... okay, atop a pile of dirty laundry. "What the fuck, why'd you sock me? What time is it?"

 _"There is someone outside!"_ she murmurs.

Shit. She's right. I slither over to the rear door and press an ear against it, hearing footsteps and a quiet grumble. They're right outside, and standing right at the door now... "Shit. Uh, put something on, hide, whatever you want. Toss me those boxers there, I'm gonna..." I look around. Nets, gaffs, poles, floats... shit, where'd I see that harpoon? Fucker probably fell behind some boxes. I slide into my underwear and put on my spare glasses, panicking as the stranger stARTS PICKING THE LOCK. Oh fuck. Oh shit oh fuck. Grab something! I pick up a fishing pole and draw it back, ready to cast as the door opens. "BACK OFF, I'LL PUT YOUR FUCKING EYE OUT WITH THIS!"

" _Sukin syn!_ Put rod down or I make fish boy late from _life_ too!"

Oh thank fuck, it's Fedor... oh fuck, it's Fedor! Fuck, I slept through my alar- wait, this motherfucker came and _found me?!_ "Wh-what the fuck! How the hell did you- what the fuck is this supposed to be? Couldn't you just call me?!"

He grunts with a shrug, looking around at the inside of my van. "I call. You not pick up. You late. I have business to run, you have job to do." He points a stern finger at me, displeasure plain to hear in his voice. "Fedor does _not_ like-" he stops, craning his neck to see past me.

I look back in time to see Audie duck out of sight into the laundry pile, and I take a deep breath as I turn to face him. "Okay... I slept in, my phone must be on silent, I'm late for work. But you tracking me down is easily the creepiest fucking thing I can think of."

He waves a paw. "Shaddup. I see what happen, I understand... son of bitch, I _smell_ what happen. Van smell like fish fuck. You come to work in two hours. Special job today." He turns to leave, but stops to look back at me for a moment. "And if not there in two hours, hope you have will. Maybe leave van to girlfriend." He waddles off, cursing in a language I don't know.

"What... the fuck." Audie pokes her head out of the pile.

I close the door and drop down, sitting on the floor. "Yeah, that... that was Fedor. I think you met him at that CRAMP thing."

"The mob guy you work for, right? I say again, what the fuck."

"Hey, I don't know what he does, and I don't _want_ to. He pays me in cash and fish, where else am I gonna find that?"

"Where else are you gonna find a giant creep who tracks you down when you're late?! Dude, seriously, that's not fucking normal. And what's he mean 'special job?' Do I want to know?"

I clutch my paws to my head, then hold them out to calm her down. "No, no, it's probably like the last special job. Special order, expensive fish, high-priority shit." I sigh. God, could he have not done this? Ruined my damn evening. "Uh, look, I'll drop you off at your place."

"Like hell. I'm not letting you go there, and if you go, I'm not leaving you _alone_. That guy's a fucking maniac for all I know!"

This catches me off-guard. "Hang on. Okay, is there something... extra, going on here? Or am I reading too much into-"

She sighs, smacking a paw against her forehead. "Oh god, is this _really_ happening? No, this isn't something _extra_. I'm your friend and friends can worry without it being romantic. Okay? You're my, you're my... no, fuck, that sounds insensitive." She raises a paw, held horizontally, over her head. "Okay so up here, I guess, we'll say that's romance, boyfriend, I-want-you-inside-me-all-night territory. Down here..." she continues, holding a paw very low, "...is sexual repulsion and crotch-desert. Over to my right is BFFs 4evs, and to my left is 'I want you to die and I want to be the one who causes it.' Do you see the square? Can you imagine the chart? Let's call it the Cartesian plane of relationships."

"Oh fuck, is there gonna be math in this?"

"No, goddamnit, there's not..." She sighs. "Okay you're up here, solidly in the top-right... my top-right, your top-left." The motions she's making with her paws help a lot. "This is the area where, yes, boyfriend-girlfriend shit happens, but I don't think either of us feels that. You're inwards from there, better-positioned than a really close friend with a disfigurement or a body pillow with a penis. See? So while I may not view you as just a piece of ass or just a friend, I still _give a fuck_ and want you to not die. There can be friendship between guys and girls, it doesn't have to be one of only two things, and it can be a fucking rainbow of different shit. Does that explain anything?"

"Body pillow? Is that why I'm the little s-"

"No, goddamnit, I told you that's down to the _size difference!_ Fucking hell, will you just put a shirt on?"

 

I park in front of Fedor's and set the brake. "I hope you're sure about this, because I don't have time to drive you anywhere now." I look over to her, sitting on the passenger seat in one of my sweaters, just staring back at me like a disappointed schoolmarm. I raise my paws in a shrug. "What? This job _feeds_ me, literally! You think I was doing well just cruising the clubs every night, pulling in maybe thirty ducks a week? I don't care _what_ he has me doing, I'm never looking at a can of beetle meat again in my life!"

She sighs, arms crossed, and says nothing as she undoes her seatbelt and stands up on the seat.

"Okay, fine. But you'll probably have to stay up front. I don't know his policy on friends in the backroom." We hop out of the van and shuffle towards the door.

"Holy fuck it's cold," she mutters.

"Yeah. We're in Tundratown, it's a little chilly."

"Chilly?! It's fucking _freezing_. Don't you have more sweaters?"

"You're already wearing my best one. Just sit down and I'll bring you a shot of vodka, you'll feel fine."

"Fuck this, I'm going back to the van."

I shrug and toss her the keys. "That... yeah, that's okay, just bundle up and read, I guess. There's nothing to do in there, just remember that you insisted on coming here."

"If you're not out here in eight hours I'm calling the cops."

I pause with my paw on the shop door and sigh. "It's not that kind of job. This fish shop is legal, okay? I need this job to live. I'll be off in eight hours, and I'm gonna rub it in your face."

In I go, squeezing through the stubborn door and bumbling silently past the three banditi in the corner. I've picked up bits of their conversation on the rare occasion I'm not in the back. The big one, I think his name's Igor, keeps catching the other two cheating at cards. Or so I think. I don't speak a fucking word of their language. The small one (relative), I think his name's also Igor, is usually pretty loud and upset about being called a cheater, and starts getting in on Big Igor about something or another. The middle one, I think his name's - you guessed it - Igor, seldom speaks a word, but makes up for this with gestures and random syllables. I probably made all of this up out of boredom, trying to force meaning onto something I'm witnessing and don't understand. There's no way in hell all three of them are named Igor, either.

I push past the backroom door with a grunt and start checking my workspace. The counter's clean and the floor below it as well. The knives are all sharp and ready for work. The light is... I swear to god this dim, fluorescent light is designed to be depressing. But Fedor says it's cheap to buy and cheap to run, so I'm stuck with it. Anyway, it works well enough for me to see by. "Fedor, I'm here. What's the big deal tonight? Is it more tiny tropical fish, is it a huge fucking order, what?"

Fedor waddles out from between some racks and tosses me a set of keys. "Tonight different. Follow me, we take car."

I stare at the keys for a moment, wondering how far I'm about to sail up shit creek. "Uhh... yeah, all right. Picking it up or something?"

He chuckles as he holds the door. "Heh... or something, yes. Potoropis', move your tail. Big job tonight."

I follow him out the back and into his tiny, weird car. In the darkness, you can hardly tell the damn thing's made of plastic. "So wait, does tonight's order have to be done so fresh that the fish can swim off their plates? Because I'm not a sushi chef, I just gut them. Shit, wait, I'm gonna go grab the kni-"

"Get in car!" he barks, his words swatting me soundly on the head. "Not need knifes tonight. Different job."

I sit on the passenger seat, with the lap belt lying loosely over my legs. Maybe the buckle will weigh me down if we crash, but I'll probably just splatter against the glove box. I can't even see out the windows. "Hey, so what kind of job is this? Are we picking something up? Because if you'd said so, we could have taken my van, even though... well, she wanted to come, she could deal with it."

"Girlfriend in van?"

"She's not my girlfriend. She's a girl and a friend, but... I'm fine with what we've got going."

"You stay up late, sleep through calls. What, you just talking?"

I huff. "Hey what's more important right now, my personal life or the job I have to do?"

Fedor snorts. "Tell you when get there. When meet girl?"

I mutter something impolite under my breath, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "We work together. We're both comedians."

"How much she drink?"

I look sideways at Fedor. "That's a weird thing to ask. She drinks less than I do, I think."

Fedor's been biting his lip the whole time. "If she drink so little, why she fuck _you?_ " His uproarious laughter shakes the car more than just driving it does, which honestly frightens me. "You see? Fedor have jokes too! You use that one, everyone laugh. Get good tip, or free drink, don't know what comedy pays. Here look, we almost there."

I loosen my grasp on the thick vinyl of the seat, my claws leaving only small marks despite my grip. "Holy f-... oh god I thought we'd lost a goddamn wheel, maybe two of them. How can you drive this thing?!"

He waves a paw. "I like this car, is reliable and good on gas. You sound like Marta! 'Uncle Fedor, why you don't buy nice car? Car with cruise and mirrors and cushy seats.' Pff. I fix this car with just screwdriver and one wrench, don't need trained expert and supercomputer connection!"

I take a deep breath, feeling my pulse slow down as we pull into a parking lot. "Fair enough. So what's the job, now that we're here? Anything special about it?"

"Yes, not like normal job. You crawl through drainage pipe, open up warehouse from inside, I come in and take what belong to me. Okay?"

I stare at him for a moment, and stand to look out the window. 'Zootopia Customs Impound,' the sign says. That's awfully descriptive. "Oh shit... look, I'm sorry, but I really, uh, I- I can't get involved with- I'm here on a visa, I don't want to start running jobs for the..."

Fedor's stare is a calm and a tired one. "You think is mafia job?"

I nod.

"Pff. No, no. This just business, Fedor retired from mafia years ago, just run fish shop now. Still connected, yes," he shrugs, "but not employed. Reese on visa, yes?"

"Yeah, I... just said that."

He shrugs again. "Do this, I pull string. Visa renewed. Need ID? Need van registered?"

Wait. Did he just say that? What the- no, the morning at the police station explains everything. He's connected, he just said it. "I don't want to know how you know that, do I?"

He chuckles, acting offended. "What? I only looking out for worker, checking up on things. You do this, maybe two other- two _little_ things beside, never have to worry about visa, about registration, or anything. It pay to work for Fedor, no?"

Oh fuck. "I'm... I'm not gonna have to kill someone, am I?"

More laughter, stronger than before. "No! No, no, no, no. Well... maybe. But that would be for Fedor, not for mafia. I tell you I retire from that. You not have to worry about waking up with fish head on pillow or anything, you just work for Fedor."

I look out the window again. My visa renewed, my van registered, a local driver's license... and _no paperwork?_ What's the worst that can happen, besides me being arrested for breaking into and robbing city property? Fuck. They're going to deport me to Lithuania, and I'm not even fucking from there. "Okay... but I have two questions. Is this a fish, and is it illegally caught? Because if it's poached, you can go f-"

" _Prekratite svoy grebanyy razgovor!_ You think Fedor sell poached fish? I pop your head like grape! I sell legal catch only! _Etot chertov mal'chik_... Fedor's fish _caught_ legal, just not _imported_ legal. Save money, bribe cost less than customs. Not tonight though, fucking shit think he ask for more money, so some friends taking care of him. But while he busy, Fedor still have orders to fill! Now you crawl through drain pipe or not?"

 

Fuck. I'd rather have Fedor taking care of me than his friends, so I guess I'm crawling through a pipe. Son of a bitch it stinks in here! Fuck, I dated a skunk in college, but this is just bad. Oh god, I just put my paw in something soft. I'm not going to look... I'll just wipe it on the wall and keep going. Third grate I pass should be loose, he said. Stay in the shadows, get to aisle twelve, open the side door with the worn brass key stamped number seven. Am I really doing this? Am I actually breaking into a government fucking warehouse to steal some smuggled fucking fish? I'm going to fucking puke. Not because of the stress, I mean the smell. Holy _fuck_ , the smell.

I find the third grate, _finally_ , and poke my head up. It's pretty dimly-lit in here. That's nice, my eyes suck anyway, why should this place be any brighter than outside? I swear it's fucking darker in here, goddamn. I slither up through the drain and slide the grate back over it, looking around for any kind of sign. All I see are shelves. Rows and rows of shelves, with tons of contraband set thereupon, and nary a numeral to be seen. Goddamn government efficiency at work! No numbers, no labels, you better just know what the fuck you're doing or hope nobody ever see- oh they're painted on the floor.

I stick close to the shelves where there's less light, although there's not much light in here to begin with. I came out between aisles fifty-six and fifty-seven, so just my luck, there's quite a walk ahead of me. Forty-four... fourty-two... goddamnit. What am I _doing_ here? Would Fedor have let me quit and walk away? Probably not. Not after he drove me all the way out here, and certainly not after he told me all of that. Will he let me walk away from the job when this is done? Fuck, even if he does, I'll still owe him a couple favors if he goes through with everything he said. Fuck. Audie was right. Goddamnit, I can't ever let her know about this, I'll never hear the end of-

"HEY!"

FUCK. I dive into a shelf as the beam of a flashlight stops where I'd been walking. Goddamn, that's bright... I'd close my eyes fully, but then I wouldn't see whoever's coming. Not that I can in these fucking old glasses, anyway. A couple pairs of feet approach, the sound of claws clicking on the cold floor growing louder and louder.

"I told you it was nothing, why are you so jumpy tonight? This is the fifth time you've 'seen' something, man."

A snort follows. "No... I _saw_ something this time, I'm telling you."

"God. Is this about the tarantulas that got loose in Warehouse C? We're in _Tundratown_ , Dale, nobody smuggles anything in here alive. Besides, our shift's nearly over. Let's just get in the office where it's warm and wait."

Dale sighs. "...Fine. Fine, you're probably right."

I release a long-held breath and unclench my asshole, peeking out to watch them leave. What the fuck am I doing here?

I finally reach aisle twelve and open the door, seeing Fedor staring down at me and tapping his watch.

"Take your time? _Medlennyy ublyudok_ , I have business to run!" He steps inside and starts looking along the shelf, grabbing a large box before long. "Here. Good job, we go now." He walks outside and plops the box right in the trunk, slamming it a few times before it latches.

I follow him out and look at the door as I pass. "Hey, Fedor?"

"What."

"These keys you gave me. Is there some reason they wouldn't, you know... open the door from the outside?"

"Mmm. No, key works from outside, but lock is stiff."

"Sorry, you just had me crawl through the filthiest pipe in the city. I'm going to have to burn these clothes because the _lock is stiff?_ "

He pauses, resting a paw on the roof of his car with a sigh. "Why you work for Fedor?"

I blink, unable to come up with an answer.

"Fedor's paws, wrists, they not young anymore. So Fedor hire you to work with paws, do what Fedor can't."

"You couldn't have just had me unlock the door from the _outside?!_ "

He smiles. "Told you Fedor has jokes."


	30. Tears of a Clown

I push through the door, dragging my feet, as I pull my sweater over my head. 'Fedor has jokes.' Let's see him laughing after I break an oar over his head. ...No. No, that'd just make him mad. I pause to empty my pockets before removing my pants. Goddamnit, I liked these pants! Is my shirt at least salvageable? I pull it off and wad it up, pressing my nose into it and taking a whiff. OH FUCK, why did I do that... sonofabitch, I'm gonna throw up. I'm gonna throw... I crouch down, rocking slightly, and take deep breaths of fresh, fishy air until the feeling passes. The last thing I need tonight is to clean up vomit.

I throw my soiled clothes into the trash bin behind the counter and shuffle toward the door, with all my belongings in my paws. I can feel the banditi watching me. Their aggressive grumbling has stopped, and I don't even hear cards slapping against the table. Fuck, this is going to be cold. At least I parked close to the entrance. I stare at the door, and my eyes settle on the little double-sided sign. 'Come in, we're open!' it invites, in a sort of sickeningly-cheerful way. From outside, of course, it says we're closed. Goddamnit Fedor. Why even turn the lights on? Why have the banditi show up? Or are there gangsters here all day every day, just to keep an eye on the place? I've wasted enough time. It's time to do this.

I heave the door open just far enough to squeeze out, and make a mad dash for the van. FUCK. The cold is bad enough, but the damn sidewalk's covered in ice now! How the fuck did this much ice get here in just hours?! If I fall down and lose my shit I'm burning your fucking shop down, Fedor! Do you hear me?! Of course not. He can't hear what's only in my mind. But I mean it, goddamnit, and the little lift of joy I get from imagining the store burning gives me the focus I need to make it to my van without eating shit on the ice. I tuck everything I've got into one arm and jerk the handle, leaping into the back and diving for a blanket as Audie laughs.

"AHAha... wait what the FUCK?!" she shouts, pulling away from me as I writhe and squirm under a blanket. I poke my head out and waddle to the door, tossing away my polluted boxers before pulling it closed.

I turn to look at her, expecting something about how she knew I'd show up bloody or naked, but she says nothing. "Well?" I ask, throwing my uncovered arm up in a shrug as my other paw clutches my blanket-toga tightly around me. "Let me fucking hear it. I've earned it."

She blinks, raising a paw to her chin and tapping her lips with a finger. She opens her mouth but quickly reconsiders, going back to thinking. A few moments pass before she sighs, "Wow. Yeah, I got nothing. I had a few things I'd been working on all night, but none of them really apply to this. What the fuck did you _do?_ "

"I crawled through a disgusting drainage pipe to unlock a city customs warehouse from the inside so he could get something they'd confiscated. Do you need the full details? Because I can grab those boxers from outside, let you get a whiff of what I'm talking about."

"NO, no, that's- I'm good. I think I'm good. But, uhh, _I told ya so_."

"Shut up." I look beside her, where my laptop lies open. "The fuck is this? When I said you could stay in the van and read, I meant the books, not my shit. Is that what you were laughing at? How? I don't put my stand-up on there and the comedies I've written are garbage."

She tries to hide a grin, but becomes possessed by a fit of snickering. "Dude, Reese, I don't know why you wrote this, but it's pure fucking gold. PLEASE tell me this is going to get published!" She picks up the laptop and passes it to me, and I slide my head back and forth to try to focus. Goddamn shit glasses.

_...trudged long and hard across the plain of thirst, the aching in his throat grew into burning. There was no water. There was no shade. All he had to eat were the strange insects that dotted his path, such ugly, bitter creatures that shrieked and jumped when disturbed. It was after two long weeks of walking that he finally sighted the reclusive city of Carnalia, with its suggestive towers thrusting brazenly toward the untouchable sky._

"OF EVERYTHING ON THIS COMPUTER YOU'VE BEEN READING _GONAD THE BARBARIAN?!_ "

She nearly jumps, startled. "Woah dude, indoor voice! You're gonna blow my goddamn ears out!"

"Why didn't I delete this fucking story when that tigress went savage?! Fuck, this was the _last_ thing I wanted anyone to know about, goddamnit..."

She pulls me down to sit on the pile of laundry beside her and tries to gently pry the laptop from my paws. "Hey, come on, man, you're looking at this all wrong. Yeah, I shouldn't have gone into your personal stuff. I'm sorry. But if you delete this story, you'll be destroying one of the funniest fucking things I've read all month."

"It's not supposed to be _funny_. It's supposed to be _sexy and suggestive_ , but it's just a steaming pile of- let go of that. Goddamnit." I shut the laptop and set it aside, turning away to dig through my bag of clean clothes.

"It's definitely suggestive, I'll give you that. But sexy is up to personal preference, you shouldn't beat yourself up about that."

"I'm a _writer_ ," I snark, glancing over my shoulder as I pull out a clean pair of boxers. "Beating myself up is what I do."

"Yeah, well... it doesn't _have_ to be. You could try to give yourself constructive criticism, or you could- oh I know! You could ask one of your goddamn friends to read it, and listen to what _they_ have to say. I mean really, you're kinda bumming me out."

I drop my thermal cocoon and pull on some clothes plucked at random from the clean bag. "Life is a bummer." I rub my face, sighing tiredly. "I'm hosting open mic tonight. You got time to waste?"

She shrugs, eyeing my laptop.

"If you open that again I'm leaving you here."

 

After a long commute among the carnival of idiocy that is driving in this city, and a short detour by Audie's apartment so she could change her clothes, we arrive at Giggles & Co., the Pack Street area's number one venue for laughs and hilarity. At least that's what it says beside the door; I don't know if it's the best, but it's certainly not the worst. I fix my gaze down toward the sidewalk, with my paws in my pockets as we shuffle ever closer to the entrance as I realize I haven't figured out what set to try tonight.

"What're you staring at?" Audie asks, with a curious but playful tone in her voice.

"Nothing. I can't see shit in these fucking glasses, have I mentioned that?"

She blows a raspberry through her lips. "Yeah, about a hundred times since we started driving here. Spit it out, what're you brainulating in there?"

Brainulating? I'm not on the internet as much as she is, but I'm certain that's not a goddamnt word. "If you mean what am I _thinking_ , I'm thinking 'oh fuck I haven't decided on a set.' I know I'm just hosting, but I usually come to these things semi-prepared and tonight I'm fucking burned out. I mean, there are things... ideas I've been working on, but I don't know if they're really ripe."

"Dude, just pull out something you've done before. You don't need new material on a nightly basis, you prima donna, you just need something funny."

"I know that, it's just... I'm really not feeling any of them. I've had a hell of a night and they all just seem stupid."

She steps in front of me and stops me, putting her paws on my shoulders and staring into my eyes. "Take a breath with me, Reese. Deep breath, big one. In... out. Do it again. Now calm your ass down, you goon, you've done this a hundred times before. All right?"

I stare into her eyes for a moment, following her instructions, before turning my gaze downward once again. "I know, it's... I'm just kind of numb right now, I guess, to where nothing really sounds-" I stop, staring at her midsection.

"Hey, buddy? My eyes are up here."

"No, no... I just noticed your dress."

"My dress?"

"Yeah." She's wearing a flowery, yellow sundress. The same one they squeezed me into only weeks ago. "...I think I wore it better." I have to smile as I duck away from her playful swats, and stifle a laugh as she calls me some colorful names - all in good fun, of course.

"Dick! At least you're saying something funny for _once_ tonight, save that shit for the stage. Wiseass."

We trundle into the club well before any patrons have arrived. Gary gives me a 'don't fuck this up' look from his position behind the bar. That's normal for him, he was really doing Harry a favor by hiring me... he reminds me of that on a weekly basis. I don't think he likes my comedy. Let me rephrase that. I'm _aware_ he doesn't like my comedy. But he's a businessman, and the crowds seem to like it. That or they don't want to waste the two dollars they spent to get in, so they keep buying drinks until they think I'm funny. Gary wins in either case. He's a businessman, not a fool.

"I'll claim us a table off to the side. You need anything?"

I sigh. "Yeah, a boat to take me far away from this city... or a bottle of whatever cheap, shitty wine Gary's got on hand tonight. Red."

 

I take the stage, lowering the mic to my level. Pretty good showing for a weeknight. As soon as I can feel the tingle in my fingers, I know the wine's doing its job and it's time to start talking. "Hey, everybody. We've got a really nice lineup tonight of... whoever out there among you are daring enough to drag their asses up here tonight. Now, I don't want you to get the impression that coming up here and baring your soul to the world is scary. I mean, it is. It really is. But don't let that stop you. Scary shit's everywhere. It's all around us, all the time, and a lot of it is just stuff we're used to."

I take a sip from my glass. "But stepping up here is nothing to be feared. Nay, rather, it is something to be celebrated. ...Okay, maybe not celebrated, but definitely encouraged, and not just on my account. After all, I'm getting paid for this. I'll be on and off this stage until the sun comes up. Now, in a few minutes I'll summon our first sacrif- I mean aspiring comedian up here, but before then, it's my job to warm you up. Like I said, I'm getting paid for this. The rest of you, whether you're here for fun, to work towards a career, or just because the bar across the street was full, your job is to keep buying drinks so the management likes me more. Let's get started."

"Now, if any of you frequent comedy clubs with any regularity, you've no doubt discovered that stand-up comics are just like anyone else with moderate-to-severe psychological issues. Case in point: me. Before the night is over, you'll surely think that this is a man in need of therapy, and you would be correct. However, therapy costs money that I don't have, largely because I do this for a living. So obviously, it takes a certain kind of sick individual to voluntarily throw himself into such a swirling maelstrom of self-abuse, but there's a little secret I have to tell you: while talking to a therapist costs money, I can vomit my problems onto all of you and actually make money! Isn't that neat? I'm sure it's worth something. They say just talking about things helps after all. Moving on! Our first volunteer is one you may know if you've come to our open mics before. She's hip, she's now, she's been slamming vodka tonics since she got here, it's Susan Bradenow!"

I exit the stage and climb onto a chair beside Audie, slouching with my wineglass in my paw. "How much longer?"

"Well she's got five minutes, then you've got five minutes, then the next one's got five minutes, then you've got five minutes again... what, did you forget or something?" she chuckles. "It's just for an hour. God, you're whiny tonight."

"I've had a really fucking weird time lately, okay? The acid trip and the other felonies are bad enough. You know there are cameras everywhere in this city, right? They're going to figure it out, and I'm fucking two degrees separated from the fucking mafia so that really helps my mood."

"Cheese and crackers, Reese, this city has bigger problems than _you_. You think they give a shit about a swan? If they cared about that fucking thing, they'd have insurance on it. Nobody cares about the acid, nobody cares about the swan, and as far as the break-in goes, you're an accessory at most."

I bury my face in my paws for a moment, then chug what's left of my glass. "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll try to be back before I'm up."

I end up exiting the restroom just as Susan is coming off the stage. I shuffle past Audie, stopping to refill my goblet of hilarity on my way to the stage. "Now that Susan's got you all cheered up, I'm back to bring you down. It's funny to me - not funny ha-ha, more funny 'what the fuck' - that the things I say make anybody laugh. I'm a fucking downer and I know it, but they keep having me back here." I take a sip and look out at the crowd.

"Okay, let's get this going and let's go hard. Some of you may realize just from looking at me that I am not normal. The more attentive among you remember my introduction from before, so you already knew that. But here's the big one, the reason I left home, the reason I'm so fucked up, and the reason growing up sucked: I don't know what I am. Show of hands, who's got any fucking idea what species I am? You, in the middle. 'Ginger weasel.' I like that one, it's simple yet descriptive. But no. You, in the hat. Speak up. Speak up. 'Cocksucker.' Okay. No, that's not bad. It's wrong, but kind of in a homophobic way, too. You should really be a little more considerate. Anyone else? No? Yes? You, the big one. 'Faggot?!' Oh, 'ferret.' You know, genetically speaking, I think you might be closest, but don't let my dad hear you say that."

I take another drink. Audience participation isn't my forte. I'm not a fucking magician, I'm an actor, for fuck's sake. The only participation I need from them is to applaud and to pay admission. I take a deep breath. "It's really a trick question, you see, because as far as species is concerned, I'm _not_ one. I'm a mistake, a genetic accident, or as my parents said, 'what the fuck, we can _breed?_ '" Pause for laughter. "Yeah. A European polecat and a European mink shacked up and this popped out," I explain, pointing to myself. Did you know they could do that?! They sure fucking didn't! But apparently it's happened before, and it's happened enough that - I found this out recently - there's actually a name for what I am. _Khonorik_. It's an old Russian word, I think it means 'asshole.'" Punchline. Laughter. Drink. "Now if you'll be so kind as to welcome our second performer, all the way from the bus station where he's been squatting for six weeks, mister Peter Nguyen!"

 

The show continues. I go up, come down, I get a little bit drunker, I go up. If I'd planned this morning's set, I may have done better, but by not planning I think I have a couple things I can tell myself to feel better: if it doesn't work, well, I shouldn't beat myself up for not doing well. Everybody has off-nights. Next time I'll make a plan, and that crowd won't know what hit them. But if I go up with no plan and bring the house down? What am I if not a _genius_ , bound toward wealth and fame? The truth is, I probably should have planned something, and I probably should be drinking just a bit less. It's not my worst show, but it could be better.

"WHY?!" I cry, tears wetting my face. I can feel embarrassment crashing against me like waves on the beach, every member of the audience as still and as silent as stone. Three minutes of tear-filled ranting really gets folks uncomfortable, which I believe is important. I sob for a moment and stand straight, any trace of grief gone from my face and voice. "So yes, I do think about that from time to time. I could have stayed and performed Shakesheare over there, but I think it's a lot more fun to come here and make all of you extremely uncomfortable!" I smile, throwing my arms wide as a slow clap builds to an applause. "Thank you all for coming, please tip the staff, and drive safe. Good night."

I pull my bag from the chair I'd been using and sling it across my chest. Audie stares at me, obviously wondering something, but merely shakes her head and finishes her drink. "Lamb of _god_ you're weird. What was that supposed to be?"

I rub my nose. "I dunno. Art, I guess."

"So wait, did you forget what stage you were on? Because this was Giggles and Company, not the black box theater where the beatniks hang out. Gary expects you to make the crowd _laugh_ , not sneak out while a grown man cries on stage."

I glance over and see Gary counting up the cash. He shoots me a look, but from the wad in his paws I guarantee he's got nothing to say. "They laughed plenty. And they felt more, too. I'm not a comedian, Audie, I'm a performer. I'm a _poet_. If I can make-"

She smacks a paw on her face. "Is this more of that coulda-shoulda-woulda shit, Reese? Because that's not doing you any fucking favors, and the sooner you get over it-"

"It's not!" I gripe, interrupting her interruption. "Look, I don't have delusions about who or what I am. I'm through with that shit. But I know what I can and can't do, and what I _can_ do is make audiences feel. I spent years working on that, and it's better than any drug I've ever tried. Can you blame me for wanting to get a little enjoyment out of what I do? I just reached out and really fucked with all of their heads! Not in any damaging way, maybe not even permanently... but if something I said _does_ stick and changes the way even one of them thinks, isn't that what we're here for? Isn't that the fucking point?!"

She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths, holding a paw up to quiet me. "Okay. Yes, there are comics out there who want to change things, and who try to get mammals thinking. But do you know how they started? By making folks laugh, not by making half the crowd leave during an open-mic!"

I snort as we push through the door and take to the sidewalk. "Yeah, well... tonight I wanted to go up there and _do_ something. Is that wrong? I don't know what the fuck's going to happen tomorrow. For all I know, the cops _might_ give a shit about that swan. I agree with you that they probably don't, and yeah, they have bigger problems than an acid-headed little shit menacing the waterfowl. But if they _do_ come for me, I don't give a fuck _how_ my last show is received, I'm fucking enjoying it."

She looks at me with such a strange mixture of pity and confusion on her face, sighing and shaking her head. "All right, if that's what you think you gotta do. Why don't you drive me home and... hell, I'm hungry. You hungry?"

"I'm fucking _starving_ ," I answer, "but there's no way I'm driving right now. You wanna walk somewhere, or do you wanna eat what's in the van?"

She twists her face slightly. "Is fish all you've got?"

"...I've got nip," I shrug. "Some shit Harry gave me, I'd eat fucking tree branches on this shit, it makes me that fucking hungry."

She looks between the van parked mere meters away and down the street to the nearest food source, a Bug Burga likely packed with drunk night-dwellers at this hour. She shrugs, sighing her approval. "Yeah, I guess that sounds all right. Lead the way, Candyman."


	31. Lights, Camera, Absurdity

  
God. It feels like years since I've tried to write anything as part of a group, and I don't fucking miss it. Norm's apartment may as well be a dorm back at college. Norm and Chet are sitting on the couch with Harry between them, Billie and Audie are splitting a beanbag chair, and I'm left to perch on a pillow on the coffed table and rub my aching temples.

"Wait, I had something just the other day. Shit, what was it? Audie, did I tell you something?"

Audie looks to Billie and shrugs, bugging her eyes a bit in confusion.

"Damnit! What was... fuck! Yes, it was something about an office. Uh, office workers, there's two at a water cooler, and they're talking about, like... someone else there who smells bad. A skunk comes for a drink, but he's not who they're talking about, and they don't want him to think that, so they start talking about sports, but they don't know shit about sports and it gets weird. Like, they talk about their favorite golf teams, and it just gets crazier from there. Goddamnit, that sounds like crap, but I swear I had something good... maybe it'll come back to me."

Harry nods. "There can be something there. You get all that, Chet? We can try to work that. Norm, what're you giggling about?"

Norm rocks slightly, jiggling as he tries to hold in his laughter. "Somethin'... Billie made me think of somethin' I always thought would be funny. You get a little guy, you dress him up like a devil, right? And you stick him in the hole at a golf course, and when someone goes to putt, he like, just _kicks it_ back out. Then he climbs out and laughs, and runs away before they get 'im."

A few heads rattle up and down. I can feel eyes on me, and I look up to see Harry and Chet staring at me. "What."

"Hey, Reese. You ever wanna play a devil?" Harry asks, tilting his head. "I think there's something there. That could be a recurring character, even."

I stare back for a moment, quietly. "What makes you think I'd fit in a golf ball... uh, hole?"

"Dude, there's large-mammal golf courses nearby, you could definitely fit in one of those," Chet declares, excitedly. "And you're already red, it'd be perfect!"

Billie nods. "Yeah... yeah, I can totally see it. Little horns, a little fork, pure fucking devil."

Audie sits up straight. "Hot pants."

We all look to her. "Huh?" asks everybody.

"Yeah. He's already red. Just give him, like, the sluttiest hot pants. He's the devil, right? Sin incarnate? And hell's supposed to be hot! You can't wear layers in the pit, you'll burn up. Our devil wears sequined hot pants and puts shit where you'll stub your toe on it."

"Sounds more like a lesser demon or an imp, when you put it like that," Chet reasons.

"Hey, do I get a say in this?" I ask.

Billie almost jumps out of her seat. "HEY. If he has a cape, do you think he can parachute off a building with it? He's pretty light, that'd be fucking hilarious!"

Is she fucking serious? "What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?!"

Harry points at Chet insistently. "Put ALL of that down. Fuck, that's a moneymaker. Who's got anything else? Reese, did you wanna say something?"

I sigh. "Besides 'I'm not jumping off a fucking building?' Yes, yes I _do_ have something. You've got two mammals walking down the street, and they pass a mirror store. They stop to look in the windows, and there's an extra reflection. They whirl around to look, but there's nobody there. They slowly look back at the mirrors, the reflections's gone, but they don't feel safe. They keep walking and they see an electronics store. There are TVs in the window with a camera pointed outward, showing them themselves as they look at the screens. The same mammal leans out from behind one of them and waves. They turn around, screaming, and there's still nobody there. They start running. They run down the street, through a park, knocking over a food cart, and keep going down a boulevard, through a flower shop, down the beach, through the ocean, and all the way to another continent. When they get there, they pause, panting, completely exhausted. And waiting for them there is the same guy they saw in the mirrors and the TVs, and all he says is, 'Who are you?' and they scream and run back down the beach the way that they just came."

The silence is almost deafening. Norm tilts his head. "Okay, yeah, that's funny."

Harry looks to Chet. "It doesn't sound real long. What d'you think?"

Chet shrugs. "I dunno. It sounds simple enough, it's just a whole bunch of different shots, but we probably can't afford to knock over a food cart, especially one that can afford a park license."

I raise my paws in a shrug. "Well, okay, then we don't have to. The cart's just for effect, I mean, we can knock something else over. Passers-by, you know."

Billie scratches her cheek. "It sounds like a lot of work for almost no punchline."

I pull my glasses off and rub the bridge of my nose. Naysayers. Always naysayers.

 

Hours pass. Everyone's shifted seats. Something about changing places to let the creative blah blah bullshit. I mean, I'm no stranger to unorthodox writing techniques, but I've experienced better methods. Unfortunately, I'm slowly sinking farther into this beanbag and I don't know if I may ever see the ground again. I pull my pipe from my mouth and try to get someone's attention. "Okay, someone get me out of this thing before I can't breathe."

Norm lifts me from the vinyl quicksand with as little effort as he'd pluck a grape from a fruit tray. "You good?"

"Yeah. Thanks." I climb onto an arm of the couch, content to sit on something solid. Chet's been yammering nonstop about some of the technical aspects of this scheme, none of which I understand. He lost me halfway through the first sentence. But I understand he's set up an account on Paymeon so we can have a little funding, which is nice - it's hard to afford costumes with no budget.

Harry raises his paw. "Dude, I already went and got some stuff we'll be needing. Should I bring you the receipt or something?"

Chet shrugs. "Sure. Yeah, if it's for a sketch, man, get with me. There's not much in there yet, but Gary said he'll throw in a little bit and I think a few folks have already subscribed. What'd you get?"

"Oh. Some striped jackets, a couple canes, and some straw hats."

Chet thinks for a moment. "Wait, is this for your vaudeville idea? I thought you said you weren't doing that one."

"Huh? No way, man, I've been wantin' to do something like this for _ages_. I even got a script all worked up, soon as Reese knows his part we can record this thing."

I jerk out of my thoughts, looking around to find wherever Harry's sitting now. "Do what? You never told me about a vaudeville thing."

"...What? No, I know I told you."

"You sure you didn't just think about telling me and get stoned?"

He pauses to think and shrugs. "I guess that could've happened. Anyway, you know vaudeville, yeah? Well this is like that, but with offensive shit and curse words. I figured you could play the straight man, you're better than me at not laughing at shit."

Audie nearly jumps from her seat. "THE DUMMY SKETCH."

All heads turn to her. Chet is the first to speak. "The what?"

"Billie knows! I told her the whole thing last week, it's fucking perfect!"

"Holy shit! I have keys to the bar, we can fucking film that one _right now!_ " Billie shouts, pulling a ring of keys from her pocket. "You guys meet us at the bar. Audie and I just have to grab a couple things."

The four of us remaining just stare at the door for a moment as the dust settles. "Hey, does anyone know what the _fuck_ they're talking about?" asks Norm.

Harry shrugs. "Not a clue, man. Reese, you think we'll all fit in your van?"

"We'll all fit in Norm's car, why do I have to drive?" I protest, content to be lazy for once.

"I'm low on gas, man," Norm replies, shaking his head. "Sorry brother, I gotta make it last until payday."

I sigh. "Yeah, fine." We make a strange procession, walking out as a group. Me in front, followed by Harry, followed by Chet, with Norm in the rear. A shocking increase in size from front to back, and sort of a skinny-fat-skinny-fat order, to boot. The van sways as we load in. Norm himself is certainly the heaviest cargo this old thing's seen in years. "Okay, there are no seat belts, so if we crash your best bet is to kiss your ass goodbye and hope there's an empty bench in the afterlife. What goddamn bar does Billie work at again? Fucktons?"

"Fulton's," Harry corrects me. "Kinda on the edge out near the Rainforest District. Uh, Botten Street."

It's not a long drive. Tedious, since we seem to catch every red light, but traffic's light this time of the night. None of the bars around here are open, and it's not lunch break for nocturnal workers, so it's fairly smooth sailing otherwise. Still feels like it takes for fucking ever, though. Just getting anywhere in this goddamn city is a hassle. I've learned that if you need to make it somewhere, give yourself an hour more than you think it'll take, because fucking SOMEBODY'S gonna fuck your travel plans, and you'll miss the casting call that _definitely_ would have set you on the right and proper course. But alas, I didn't know that when I came here.

We pull up to Fulton's and look around, seeing Billie's car nowhere. "Think they'll be long?" Harry asks, looking to Chet.

"Well I figure they were headed to their place to get some stuff. Probably won't be real long, we can wait."

Norm looks around, somewhat agitated. "Mammal, ain't this thing got a window? I need some fresh air, damn."

I roll my eyes. "There's a door. This isn't an RV, it's just a van that some asshole lives in. Stick your head out or something."

Chet joins Norm, but more out of curiosity than necessity. "Oh wow, yeah, Norm's got a point. You ever air this thing out?"

I sigh. "Man, I have _scrubbed_ this thing out. It's fifty years of fish, it's in here for good."

"I'm not talking about the fish smell, I'm talking about the _you_ smell."

"Fuck you!"

"Hey, sorry, man. No offense meant."

"Yeah, all right. Here they come anyway, you can get some air," I grumble, pointing through the windshield.

Billie and Audie arrive, looking like they're dressed up for something. Billie in a nice top and slim pants, Audie in a cute dress and jacket with a bow on her head. "Okay, Reese, do you have a coat and tie? It's important to the bit," Audie asks, a strange look in her eye.

"I, uh... yeah, I think so." I hop back into the van and start looking through boxes. "Harry, you got a second? Come and make sure this shit doesn't squash me."

"Yeah, all right." Harry climbs in after me and tries to brace some of the crap, watching me search. "Holy fuck dude, is that a Wally Wonka suit?!"

"It's... no, it's just a purple suit. It was for a thing I was in."

Audie pokes her head in and laughs, "Holy shit, now I've got _two_ reasons to call you Candyman?"

Harry laughs. "Holy fuck, she calls you _Candyman?_ "

"Will you shut the fuck up?"

"You're gonna have to tell me why, first."

"'Cuz he's got _Reese's Pieces!_ " she cackles, joined by a chorus of laughter from outside.

I take a deep breath. "All right I've found the damn jacket and tie, can you tell me what the hell I need them for?" I shoo a giggling Harry out of the van, hopping down onto the street and putting on my tie.

Audie calms herself and explains as we all follow Billie inside. "Okay. So the thing starts with Billie and Chet as two mammals on a blind date..."

 

Two normal-looking mammals sit at a table, a mountain lion and a golden canine, each with a duffel bag slung over the back of their chair. They exchange a nervous smile, some short greetings, and begin to chat.

"Hey, you're Billie, right? Chet. I've uh, I've never really been on a blind date before," the handsome feline fellow stammers.

"Yeah, me neither, but I thought, you know, why not give it a shot? You only live once, right?" laughs his attractive canine companion.

"Yeah! So they told me you work in entertainment? I do too, that's pretty crazy, I kinda wonder why we haven't met before." He fidgets in his seat, looking over his shoulder for a server who isn't there.

"Oh, totally. But it's such a big city, so many mammals... would you excuse me for a second?" Billie turns away, reaching into her bag.

Chet takes the opportunity to do the same, and each of them pulls a dummy from their duffels. Ventriloquist's dummies are very expensive to rent, as it turns out, but there's no cost to pay here. We don't need actual dummies because Audie and I are playing the parts. With their paws up the backs of our jackets, they set us on their respective knees and face each other with a look of surprise.

A moment of silence passes. "I... see you're a man of culture as well," she stammers, forcing a smile.

"I, uhh... well this was unexpected." I should mention there's not a script for this at all. There's an outline, and the rest we're supposed to improvise, as Audie said. Us dummies look around, turning our heads stiffly, and holding our eyes open for as long as we can during the awkward silence.

"Hey, I didn't know this was a double-date!" Audie exclaims, doing her best dummy impression. She's already got a voice like a puppet, so it works pretty well.

"Oh... uh, well, life's funny like that, isn't it?" Billie stutters.

Chet looks down at me and bites his lip, trying not to laugh. "What the f- hey, why aren't you wearing pants?"

"Hey, you said we were going on a date, I just thought I'd save a little time!" The truth is that I was stuffed inside a backpack in a jacket and tie. I was fucking _roasting_ in there, so I took my pants off. Unfortunately for me there's no script so I had no warning I was to be on stage until Chet grabbed me. He's lucky I kept my boxers on.

Audie turns her head and wiggles her eyebrows. "I like the way this guy thinks! I came here commando!"

All the rest of us are straining not to laugh. "Do... do you uh..." Billie tries to summon something, but can barely put it together. "What do you do in your spare time?"

Chet opens his mouth to reply, but I interrupt. "He jacks it nonstop. I make him wash his paws three times before he comes _near_ me." I open my mouth and bobble my head for humorous effect.

"NO no no, I... I like to read, I cook a little, I have a little window garden. I definitely don't..."

"BORING," Audie blurts, looking to Billie and pretending to nudge her with an immobile arm. "I _told_ you this guy was gonna be boring."

Billie bites her tongue and thinks for a second. "I _knew_ I should have left you in the closet."

Chet tries to salvage the situation. "Wait wait, uh, how do you feel about politics? Are you a progressive, a centrist, or..."

I interrupt, leaning forward accusatorily. "Are you or have you ever been a member of the communist party?"

Audie looks to Billie, with a menacing tone. "ANSWER ZE QVESTION!"

Norm and Harry, standing behind Chet's assortment of cameras, are nearly dying. They aren't allowed to make any sound, which just makes it worse.

"I'm uh, I'm involved in a couple..." Billie is starting to crack, which isn't helping Chet keep his composure. "I volunteer at a shelter for... at a women's shelter, and I do some..."

"She does yoga. You can bend her _any_ way you want!" Audie chirps, as the rest of us clamp our mouths shut.

Billie swallows nervously and sighs. "Y-you know what, I don't really think this is working, maybe we should just exhange numbers and..."

Audie screams. "NOOOO! You take me out for once and now you're gonna _beaver dam_ me?!"

I look up to Chet. "Hey pal, why don't you and your friend give us a little privacy, huh? Just because your night sucks doesn't mean _mine_  has to!"

Audie and I hop off Billie and Chet's laps as the largest of our troupe collect the cameras and prepare for the next scene.

For the second and final scene, Chet and Billie are sitting, annoyed, in a dark corner of the bar with their arms reaching inside a mostly-closed duffel bag, making rhythmic motions. Audie and I are with Harry and Norm now, trying to make the on-camera couple lose their composure.

"Oh yeah baby, I can tell you're made of _hardwood!_ " Audie shouts, biting her tongue to keep from laughing herself.

" _Unh, unh, unh_... hey buddy, work my arm, would ya? I can't smack this ass by myself!" I clamp my paws over my muzzle as Chet shakes his head... and reaches his other paw into the bag.

 

With the shooting wrapped up, the lot of us get a booth at an open establishment to celebrate our first filmed sketch. Chet holds his bottle above his head. "Okay, okay, seriously, I can't thank you guys enough for agreeing to go along with my dumbass idea. And Audie, I don't know what the _fuck_ you smoked to come up with that sketch, but _don't quit_ that shit!" Laughter follows.

Norm pauses his giggling to address Chet directly. "Hey man, when you think you'll be puttin' that up?"

He sighs, smiling widely, and shrugs. "Well, I just gotta take the different angles and figure out what works. It might take a few days but I'll shoot for no later than a week from tonight. I've been practicing with zMovies a lot, I think I've got a handle on it now."

Harry raises his paws. "Okay, that's a really fucking good first sketch. What other ones have we got written? The vaudeville sketch I've got all written out, do we have any that're close to done? We got Billie's office thing and Norm's devil idea. Reese, what about that one you came up with?"

I open one eye, slumped onto the edge of the table. It's not my fault I'm a lightweight - I'm literally a _light weight_. We small mammals just can't drink for long. "I got... I got it all planned out, man. There's like two spoken lines, and the rest issa vidjeo montage..." I mumble, rubbing my face. "Fuckin'... it's jussa buncha camera work, it's easy."

Harry nods. "All right, man. Chet, you let us know when you get that thing on MooTube, and we'll throw that link all over the fucking internet. This is gonna be fucking _sweet_ , I just know it."

The table erupts in a cheer and I raise my empty glass, sliding backward and onto the bench with a splat.


	32. Chapter 32

Early morning. Afternoon for us 'nightcrawlers.' Just another one of the things that bothers me about this place: you're either diurnal or nocturnal. One or the other. Left- or right-wing, hoofball or pawball, predator or prey, this city and everyone in it will push you into any number of little boxes that they want to and you don't get a say in it. A lot of these categories don't really affect much, but if you want to hold even a shitty job or enjoy a social life, you do have to pick daytime or nighttime.

It's a real bitch of a change, too. It wasn't a complete shock to me; I had a little experience with it during college, after all. But go ahead and try explaining to someone who grew up in such a place that you're crepuscular. I guarantee you'll end up with the kind of headache you could write songs about. Put it in the book of songs about other tragedies: storm surges clearing out villages, rogue waves taking a fleet of fishermen, and the headache you get talking to mammals who know everything because they're from the Big City. Goddamnit I hate that attitude.

"Oh yeah, I think I remember that. Dusk and dawn with naps in between, right?" That's a weird sequence of words to hear coming out of Harry's mouth. 'I remember that' is strange coming from anyone who smokes as much nip as he does, but Harry's semi-pro. "Dude, that sounds fucking awesome. You get to go to bed twice a day? Sign me the fuck up."

The bus bounces over one of the terrific roads we've got around here, sending Harry, Audie, and myself airborne for a moment. Have I told you I hate buses? Because I do, I really, truly do. They're sticky, they're bumpy, you're more likely to get squashed by some ignorant giant herbivore, and the drivers think they own the fucking road. "Yeah, well, that's how we live back home still. You get up, you eat, you go catch fish, you come home, you sleep, you get up, you eat, you go catch _different_ fish, you come home, and repeat. I mean, once you're grown, anyway. Before then it's get up, eat, row to school, get bullied, row back home, go to sleep, get up, eat, your parents don't understand you, go hang out with your grandpa."

Audie laughs. "I still can't believe you _rowed a boat_ to school. Didn't you have a ferry or something?"

"Yeah. Problem was, all the other kits were on it, and you only let yourself get pantsed or thrown overboard so many times before you grab a couple of oars and go it alone."

Harry shakes his head. "Man, I'd never do that... I'd be too scared of 'em ramming me or something."

"They wouldn't do that. There'd have to be a teacher or a parent driving the boat, right?" Audie looks to me expectantly, her eyes widening slightly at my silence.

"You know how they say specists are taught, not born? Yeah, they came close a couple times before I started carrying shit. One time I threw a rope in their path, it ended up tangling around their prop and their rudder. Guess who made it to school on time _that_ day?" I ask, shifting in my seat. "I got suspended for a month when I lit up a molotov cocktail. I didn't actually _throw_ it, don't look at me like that!"

Audie and Harry stare at me, shaking their heads slowly. "Dude, that _couldn't_ have happened."

I shrug. "It did. I mean, that was the last time they tried to fuck with me on my way to school. I dropped out after that anyway, but that really was the worst that it ever got. Everything else i could handle by just internalizing it or writing."

Audie scratches her ear. "Well... at least it got better. Your parents probably could have done more, though."

"Oh, they absolutely could have done more. But they were usually out working, you know, sailing cargo around the world to pay for the kid they never planned on. They did what they could and I don't blame them any more than they deserve."

"Yeah, but..."

Harry raises a paw in front of Audie's face. "Nah, should probably just let that lie for now. Tell me again what you're dragging me into, why don't we talk about that instead?"

Audie lights up. "Oh, yeah! It's a meeting about trying to get rid of stereotypes towards mustelids. You know, weasels, martens, ferrets..."

"Oh yeah, that weird thing you guys joined. Wasn't their name something weird?" he laughs, trying to think.

"Yeah, CRAMP. Kinda hard to forget a name like that... well, not for you, I guess."

"So mustelids would be you and Reese, right? The whole weasel family and stuff. You think it's cool to drag me along?"

"Yeah, dude! I've looked this up, raccoons are like _right next_ to weasels. Out of that whole branch, I think otters are the only ones who don't get stereotyped. Haven't you ever noticed anyone following you when you go to the store? The whole burglar thing?"

Harry scratches his belly, thinking. "Eh, maybe, but I only feel paranoid about it when I'm high so I don't go shopping then. Well, that, and I'll blow all my money on fuckin' treats. I learned pretty quick to shop sober and when I'm sober I don't really care about folks following me."

I clutch my stomach and try to grip the seat. "You know, I really think I should have driven us. This fucking bus is gonna make me barf."

Harry wraps an arm over my shoulders to hold me down. "Come on, man, don't you got sea legs or something?"

"Uh, yeah, but I don't have _bus ass_. Where the fuck is our stop?!"

 

The three of us wander into an aged rec center in a past-its-prime part of town. It's not like Pack Street. Fifteen, maybe twenty years and maybe it'll be a predator neighborhood... unless hipsters start opening coffee shops and whisker wax parlors before then. I've heard more about urban gentrification than I ever wanted or needed to courtesy of Billie and a few shots of whisky. All I know is, if these idiots want to ride a unicycle and wear costumes in public, why don't they just join the circus? I'll tell you why. Because the circus requires _talent_ , and foaming a mocha-polka-fucky-fuck cup of ten dollar coffee isn't a fucking talent, no matter how curly the hair on your face is.

Marta greets us as we approach, waving and offering us directions. Conference room one, down the hall to the left, all the way past the gymnasium. We're early. No other traffic, pretty quiet in the hall... but it sounds like there might be a fight up ahead. We turn the corner to see Leonard arguing calmly - for now - with what's either the skinniest wombat or the biggest fucking groundhog I've ever seen.

"No, I reserved this room weeks ago, and you can see it on the calendar right there. 'CRAMP meeting, five-thirty AM.' I bet if you look at conference room two, you'll see your group's name on the calendar there and we can go about our mornings."

The wom-hog... ground-bat? Whatever this fucker is, he's not having it. "Look, I'm not saying you're wrong, I'm just saying we have bigger members than you do, and we really need the bigger room. They could have put the room dimensions on the website, or they could-"

"The room dimensions _are_ on the website. You can postpone your meeting, you can reschedule it, or you can deal with what you've got, because I can tell you that we'll probably be spilling out of this room into the hall as it is."

"You know, you _could_ just roll your meeting into ours. We're after the same goal, right?"

Leonard drops his forehead onto a paw, rubbing slowly. "We _really_ aren't. I'm familiar with your group. I did my research before starting CRAMP, and I asked around to make sure I wasn't stepping on toes. I'm sorry, but we had this room booked first and this is the room we'll be using."

A few mammals show up behind the... the asshole. I'm just gonna call him that, because I don't care for or about this asshole. Two rabbits and a... bear of some kind? Like a backwards panda, black body and white face sort of bear. Cripes, you run into new species every goddamn day, who has the room in their head for all that shit? I remember the first time I actually saw an elephant. I must have stared for fifteen seconds before I finally noticed all the other drivers honking at me. Wait, shit, I got caught in my head again. Goddamnit, am I getting a contact high from Harry? What the hell have I missed? Leonard looks kinda mad. Maybe I'll step in.

I take a few steps forward. "'Scuse me, let me just take a look at..." I look at the simple calendar printout beside the door. "Well, would you look at that. CRAMP meeting, five-thirty." I look at the other gathering as the hall slowly crowds. "Sorry, I guess you're screwed."

One of the rabbits tries bargaining. "Look, would it be okay if we used the room, got done, and then you used it? It's not like it's going anywhere."

I exchange a look with Leonard. I know from the expression he's got that there's no way we're settling for that. Turning back, I shrug and answer, "How about this... we'll use the room for our meeting as scheduled, and you can go fuck yourselves?"

The silence is broken by Harry and Audie laughing their little heads off. Not Leonard, though. He just fixes me with a look of utter disappointment the like of which I haven't seen in years. He extends a finger and beckons me close, so I lean down to listen. "Reese, do you know what the word diplomatic means? It means polite and respectful, not brash and insulting. Ever heard how you get more flies with honey than with vinegar?"

It takes me a moment to remember that most grown mammals don't throw around 'naughty words' with such regularity as I or my companions do.

Leonard faces them again, eager to mend what bridges I may have doused with flammable materials. He puts his paws together and sighs. "Look. I'm sorry, but I just _can't_ switch rooms - like I said before, we're already likely to get a bigger crowd than will fit into this one, and we're in a very crucial stage right now where our message is just getting out. Again, I'm sorry."

Some kind of llama jogs up from behind the our-room-wanting group, whoever they are, carrying a cardboard box. "Hey!" she bleats, "Me and Jenny got the shirts made!" She drops the box - almost squashing one of the rabbits - and pulls one out. A plain white tee billows in the air, emblazoned boldly with the letters M.E.A.T. in bright, sanguine red.

Needless to say, this is quite the attention-getter. "Hang on," I chuckle, stepping up beside Leonard. "You've got my interest. I need to know what that stands for, and why what looks like a mostly... uh, vegetarian group would be wearing a _meat_ shirt. Are those for sale?"

The llama is all too happy to explain. "Oh! If you want one just have to join up! We're Mammals for Equal Animal Treatment, we want every animal no matter WHAT species to have equal rights and protections within society! Mammal, bird, arthropod, fish... we believe that EVERY animal has every right to live their life how they choose!"

You could hear a flea fart in the ensuing silence. "But you named yourselves... _meat?!_ " I fall down. Harry falls down. The hallway behind me erupts in laughter, the kind of laughter I wish I could cause.

The apparent leader, the groundbat - oh right, I decided to call him an asshole - appears flustered. Was this not the reaction he'd hoped for? "It's not... it's not THAT funny. It was the only one that wasn't already taken or trademarked! And it's not _meat_ , it's _m-e-a-t!_ It's an initialism! Like ZPD, you say the letters!"

 

A few minutes pass and the laughter gives way to an uncomfortable animosity. The other side, clearly offended by our ridicule, refuse to leave, now trying to hold our 'rudeness' over our heads. Five-thirty is approaching, with more mammals arriving by the minute for each group. A hedgehog approaches the front, the only one among them that can look Leonard in the eye without staring down. "I don't get it. Why don't you just save yourself the time and effort of fighting us, and roll your little club into our movement? After all, it's equal treatment you want, isn't it?"

Leonard rolls his eyes. "I read about your group, I logged into your forums, and I asked questions. We're _not_ after the same thing. We want an end to mustelid discrimination, and you care more about putting an end to insect farming than you do about ending any mammalian discrimination."

"We're starting from the bottom and working our way up! Don't you care about what happens to those insects?! They-"

Leonard's tired of their conversation already. "No! Not really. It's been proven again and again that the majority of insect species have no consciousness, have no emotion, and we're not even sure they can feel physical pain much less emotional trauma! Do you plan on having a long talk here? Because I only have ten minutes to set up."

The hedgehog curls its lip, upset. "Are you saying you don't care about insects?! The farming of food animals is one of the worst things we're doing to the environment! It results in deforestation, the interruption of ecosystems, and the pollution of waterways with-"

Leonard shakes his head. "I could say the exact same things about the farming of plants for food."

I'm bored with this. "Fuck's sake! Look, you're not getting the room from us, just piss off already!"

Leonard turns to me and, with a shockingly threatening glare, tells me to shut up. "I don't know who you hang out with that makes that language acceptable, but while _I'm_ here, you'll keep it to yourself. Got it?"

I raise my paws in a shrug. "Dude, they're not listening to you. They're not listening to any of us! They've got their heads so far up their asses they can't even smell their own _shit_ anymore!"

"SHUT. UP." He turns back to the hedgehog. "We won't join you. We _can't_ join you. Most of us are obligate carnivores, you know what that means? We _can't_ live off plants. We need protein from insects at the very least or we'll get sick and die. Is that the point of your group? To starve us to death? Because that doesn't sound like you care about all animals, that sounds like you care about _bugs_ more than you care about mammals, and you care about yourselves and your own mistaken morals over others who would suffer in a world with you in charge. Is that it? Are you just another anti-predator group, hiding behind morality on your crusade to make the world safe?"

Oh fuck, did he just pull the species card? I look back at Harry and Audie, then to everyone else. "QUICK! WHILE THEY'RE TRYING TO SAY THEY'RE NOT SPECIST, EVERYONE INTO THE ROOM!" I'm nearly trampled under clawed feet as dozens of mammals scamper past, packing the room with the thickest musk in town. Pulling myself to my feet, I look between Leonard and the dumbstruck crowd with a shrug. "Looks like the room's ours. You guys wouldn't want it now anyway, the smell's pretty strong."

With a collective sigh, most members of M.E.A.T. turn and file towards the other conference room. "This isn't over," the hedgehog warns, pointing a tiny claw at Leonard.

"WHAT isn't over? We reserved a room in a public building before you and _you_ didn't read the website! What you need is some cholesterol in your diet, it turns out that's pretty important for _brain function!_ " Leonard shouts, shooing the hedgehog away. "Cheese and crackers, some of the mammals in this town...!"

I push my way through the crowd to where Harry and Audie have claimed a spot, but Leonard's on me before I can even talk.

"Okay, look. I understand you were trying to help, and I appreciate the thought, but the next time you start throwing f-bombs and other swears, I'll be dragging you away by the ear! You understand?"

I blink, partly shocked at the display of aggression from someone who's usually cool as a cucumber and two-thirds the height. "I, uh... okay, sure. I mean, yeah, I swear a lot, but I'm a _comic_. I'm kinda used to adults being okay with _adult language_."

"Not an excuse," he snips, turning his attention to Harry and dropping any aggressive manner. "Hey, how's it going? I don't think I got your name, what brings you?"

Harry's eyes dart between Leonard and me. "Oh. Uh, Audie brought me here, she said something about raccoons being pretty close to weasels and stuff, so she thought I should check you guys out."

"She told you right! We're glad to have you here, and I hope you'll stick around. There are a lot of misconceptions out there about raccoons, just as with weasels and so on, with a lot of overlap between the families. There's no reason anyone should live their life under such prejudice, especially today. Hang out for a while, I've got a feeling you'll fit right in!" He shoots me another look. "Just keep the language _civil_."


	33. Did Anyone Notice I Forgot To Name the Previous Chapter

Okay. This is it. It's just an audition, no reason to get cold feet here... hell, it's an audition with advantage, I know someone in the production, and they told me to come here! These are the best odds I've had, why do I feel like I'm going to throw up? Oh fuck, I shouldn't have thought that, now I think I actually might throw up. Get down... head between knees, deep breaths... fuck it, LIE DOWN. I'm sure I look like a real catch for the director, curled up in a sweaty little ball on the sidewalk. What am I afraid of? That I might actually _succeed?_ God forbid something should fucking go well for once! Get your sorry pelt in there and act like you're okay, you little red pussy! Just act. That's why you fucking came here, isn't it?

I berate myself out of my minor panic and push through the door, shuffling down what passes for an aisle in this little makeshift theater. He wasn't kidding when he said they converted an old storefront. The front windows are emblazoned with a big 'coming soon' announcement, the front counter has been labeled 'tickets,' and there's only a thick, black curtain separating the foyer from what passes for an auditorium. I can see how they managed to afford it, though. It's in a horrible part of town and it's _ancient_. The ceiling is very high - not economical from a heating perspective - and where it's not obscured by centuries of cobwebs, it looks to be made of patterned metal sheets. I step to the side as one falls, confirming my suspicions about both the material and the age of this place.

I push through the curtains and blink, staring into the pitch-blackness that greets me. No, not that dark... dimly-lit, and the walls are painted black. Great. One of those new black-box theaters, where you're forced to focus on the actors instead of the scenery. A good thing for the low-budget troupes out there, to be sure, but I'm not sure I put that much trust in the public's imaginations. "Uh, hello? I'm here to audition, I guess unless you just left the front door unlocked." A light turns on. Beneath it sits the skinniest brown bear I've ever seen in the most ridiculous outfit imaginable: black pants, a black turtleneck, black glasses, and a freaking black beret. Didn't anyone tell this lady that beatniks went extinct _decades_ ago? Behind and to her right stands Colin, for some goddamn reason wearing a pair of daisy dukes and a mesh shirt. What the fuck is even the point of a mesh shirt? Can such a useless garment actually exist?! With a groan, I resign myself to their game. After all, it's not every day I'm _invited_ to audition somewhere.

The bear speaks first. "You're late."

I blink, checking my phone and replacing it in my bag. "Uh, what? No I'm not."

Colin nearly barks at me. "LIAR!"

I take a step back. He told me when to be here, and he said _now_. The hell is he talking about? "Okay, well, if you decided you wanted me here earlier, you could have sent me a text or something, because the last I heard from you was three A.M. and it's five til. If you're gonna-"

The svelte sow interrupts me. "Your train arrived half an hour ago, and the station's three blocks away. What are you hiding, Kowalski?"

...Did I come at a bad time? Or did they light up some _real weird shit_ just before I got here? "Uh, I didn't take a train here, I drove myself. Besides, have you seen my little legs? Three blocks would totally take me half an hour," I add, jokingly. "Alas, I am curs'd to have been born with such stunty forks beneath mine bottom!" This is really annoying. I was tense enough when I got here, and now they're just making it weird.

Their expressions shift perceptibly. "He's trying to soliloquize," Colin whispers in her ear, but I just make it out. _Aha_. A game is afoot, one they intended to spring upon me unawares, so as to gauge my cleverness and my improvisation! It's never been my forte. Well, neither of those have, I mean. They've been getting better, but I-

The bear interrupts my train of thought. Rude. "Tell us a joke." Wait, what? Is she not playing her game anymore? Shit, I was getting kind of excited... you know what, screw her, I'm going full Shakesheare from this moment forth.

I take a playful pose, as might a jester in days of old. "What do you get when you crossbreed a herring and a puffin?"

She blinks, thinking quietly. She probably expected something more highbrow than a 'what do you get' joke. Hardly higher than a knock-knock joke, which itself is only a hair above a pun. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"

"I never found out, they sent me home from school." I drop onto the stage floor and tumble around a bit, clumsily. Physical humor's not really my bag but I'd roll out the door if I thought I could make it.

Colin scoffs. "What the hell, did he trip?"

"Nay, good sir, 'tis thou who tripst." I wriggle to my feet and look at them over my shoulder, my fingers bent into claws and my eyes wide and crazed.

Colin leans down to the... director, I guess. I assume she's the boss around here because who else would wear that fucking getup? "Okay, I don't know why he's gone all Shakesheare on us. Still, give him a chance."

"A CHANCE, PRITHEE, NOBLE SOW, FOR TONIGHT-"

Colin interrupts this time. "DUDE. DIFFERENT ACCENT."

 

It's become a staring contest of sorts. I don't know what the hell they expected starting off like this, but I've decided to try to annoy them. I'm not fond of having strange situations thrust upon me and I intend to pay them back for this in spades.

"Well?! We're waiting!" says the director, crossing her legs impatiently.

"Waiting?" I ask, rhetorically. "I tried waiting a couple times. The problem was that the plates were either too big for me to carry or the ceilings were too low. Rodents lose their appetites surprisingly quickly when their waiter looks like-"

Colin interrupts yet again. "You're accent's too yellow, try making it a little more blue!"

...What the fuck does that mean, 'my accent?' Fuck him, I've worked REALLY HARD to hide my monster of an accent, and if it's an accent he wants, then by Njord it's an accent he'll have! My mother's accent, a thick, Nordic sing-song, issues from my mouth. "Vell I think I can doo a betterr one for yoou... howw doo yoou laik diss one?"

"I said BLUE. That's BROWN." He's making this shit up. I know he is. It's getting to me a bit, I admit. "Tell us a poem," he entreats, raising a paw artfully.

I swallow slowly and take a deep breath. I don't think I can loosen my throat enough to copy my father's speech perfectly, certainly not at his usual pitch, but I can copy his patterns. I remember an old limerick, one he'd tell me sometimes when he wanted me to shut up and stay in bed. Now that I've grown, I know he wanted me to stay in so he could get down with my mom, and I still shudder slightly at the thought. "All right lovely boy... I'll tell yous a po-em, since you asked so nicely. Little Johnny snuck out of bed, hopin' to go outside. Little Johnny heard 'is parents, and Johnny tried to hide. Dad saw 'is tail, 'e got mad as 'ell, and then poor Johnny, 'e died."

The director looks at me. "That's it?"

"...Well, yeah, that's it. Do you want the context, too? Because that's more something I should tell to a therapist, rather than the queen of the hipsters." These two are really pissing me off, slowly. This is easily the stupidest, most unprofessional audition I've ever been unfortunate enough to stumble into.

Colin leans into her ear again. "Okay, claws are coming out."

Claws? _Claws?!_ Motherfucker, I'll SHOW you claws! "I'd be less worried about my claws coming out and more worried about your balls touching the bus seat on your way home in those pants. Is there a free clinic on your route? Because if you came here wearing that, you should probably get tested."

The bear sits up straight. Did she like that? Or does she just enjoy that she's finally pressing my buttons? "Tell me about yourself."

"Tell you about myself? Holy shit, is this your first goddamn audition?! Shouldn't that have been, I don't know, the _first thing_ out of your goddamn maw when I got up here? Son of a bitch! If this is how you run your theater, I recommend you learn how to make sandwiches and turn this back into a storefront."

"I'm waiting."

I stifle a derisive laugh. "Oh. Okay. Sure. I'm basically the same as every other wannabe actor who comes here with a dream, right down to the 'it never happens' ending. So thanks for asking, if you couldn't tell I'm a little bitter about the whole fucking thing, though I'm sure you could tell by now if you've got even two brain cells in that empty shell you call a head."

Colin sighs. "You can do better than that."

The fuck did he just say?! "I can do your _mom_ , you circus freak, is that better? Lanky fuck, I could throw you in a freezer and use your scrawny ass as a fishing pole!"

They look at each other briefly and offer me a golf clap. "All right," the bear announces calmly, "I think there's something to work with there."

"Wha- what?! What the fuck are you talking about, goddamnit? Is this some fucking joke to you? I could have been doing any number of more enjoyable things right now than entertaining a couple drama club rejects. Shit, I could probably have gotten _laid_ if I really applied myself, and you two are j-"

Colin interrupts yet again, raising his paws before him. "That's good, that's good - we've seen all we needed to, you can back it down."

"FUCK YOU, 'BACK IT DOWN!' You bring me here and just fuck with me, dangling some part in front of my nose like a carrot on a stick? I've got a stick for you, there's no carrot, but why don't you come down here and I'll dangle something in front of _your_ nose!" I shout, rudely grasping the front of my trousers.

They laugh. Pretentious fucks! The bear rises and takes off her hat and glasses, looking more like a real mammal and less like the worst artist stereotype in the world. "Okay, yeah, it's a little unorthodox for an audition, but we didn't want to see you put on an act." Her voice has a telltale warble to it, as though she's trying hard to speak through laughter. Cocky prick! "We wanted to see you put on the _truth_. And you've got something we can work with."

The sheer absurdity of her statement hits me in the face like a wet brick. Wait, does that even make sense? Nothing makes sense. Fuck it. "What?" I query, more confused now than angry. "Look, whatever you smoked before I showed up here, I don't know if I should ask you for a hit or call the fucking cops."

Colin approaches and drops to a knee, placing a paw on my shoulder. "Relax, dude. It's fucked up, but it works, and now you're in. Cool?"

I pull off my glasses and rub the bridge of my nose. "What works? How? What the fuck is this supposed to do, really?"

"It weeds out the prima donnas, for one, and we feel there's a good correlation between real, raw emotion and compelling acting."

I breathe a long sigh. "For fuck's sake... I can cry on demand, you couldn't have asked for that? I've had issues with anger in the past, goddamnit, I'd like to not be known for it."

"Relax, guy. We do this to everyone. It's the ones who _don't_ get angry that creep us out."

"That has _nothing_ to do with what I just said." Son of a bitch, this fucking guy...

 

Colin and I are sitting in a nearby Bug Burga, trying to wind down from the audition. Well, mostly me. He's just here for dinner.

And, thankfully, he put on real clothes.

"So you've never gotten an acting job since you got here?" he asks, poking through his box of cricket dippers.

I stare at my tiny sandwich, wondering why everything in the world has to involve bread in some way. Sandwiches, burritos, even those goddamn cricket dippers have bread on the outside! I pull the top bun off and flick some vegetables off the patty, interested only in the protein portion of my-

"...Apart from that commercial, I mean."

Did this motherfucker just interrupt my internal monologue?! The fucking nerve! "Okay, whatever you do, don't tell _anyone_ about that fucking commercial. I've been trying to block that day from my memory."

"Well, I know Harry a bit. He sent me a link."

Who _doesn't_ Harry know? Wait, Harry's how I even came to meet this guy. Harry's how I know anyone in this city besides Fedor, and Fedor fucking scares me. I really don't think I want to meet folks through Fedor. I'll stick with Harry. "Yeah, well, don't spread that around. That could ruin the career I don't have yet."

He shrugs. "We've all done shit we're not proud of."

"Have you done shit that almost got your ass beat?"

"Uh, yeah, _lots_. On my days off I perform on the street, I stripped at a ewe party once, and I deliver mail for a living. Do you know how many canids flip out when they see a blue shirt and a pith helmet? I don't understand that shit, I don't think anyone does."

Fair points. I suppose I owe him for getting me the audition, too, so how mad can I really be with him? "Well... thanks, man. It feels weird to actually get a part after so long, so many fucking auditions. I almost feel like I've forgotten what comes next, it's-"

"Rehearsals come next." Goddamnit, can I finish two sentences in a row?

"...Yeah. I know. So what's the gig? Little Shop of Terrors, right?"

"Well, it's a pretty extensive rewrite. Ursula's taken a lot of liberties with the script, and really made it something dark - but she kept all the songs just as they were written, though we're obviously changing the instrumentation to fit."

"If it's such an extensive rewrite why not just write something original based on the same theme?"

He shrugs again. "Name recognition, I guess. We want something folks might recognize, maybe want to come and see. Who the hell would come to see something avant garde from a newly-established troupe? We need asses in seats first, to build up a bit of a reputation, _then_ we hit 'em with the weird shit."

I choke down a bite of bug-patty and sip my water. "Yeah, well, I guess that makes some kind of... no, it doesn't make any sense. But it's an idea. How many other players you got?"

"There aren't that many roles to begin with. We've got the main roles filled now, a few singers, and a couple extras besides. A half dozen stage crew. Nobody involved in this is really doing just one thing, obviously."

"I've heard of worse. I've _been_ in worse. Just let me know when rehearsals start, then."

"Yeah, we'll have the schedule set up before long now that we've got the parts filled. What's your availability?"

I shrug. "I work at a fish shop three nights a week, hit a few open-mics, host one weekly. Other than mornings I shouldn't have much of a problem."

"Hm. I'll ask you later about the details. Got to get with everyone else as well."

I finish my patty and crumple the waste portions of my meal in the wrapper. "Can I ask you something kinda personal?"

He blinks. "This should be good."

"...That's a weird thing to say, but okay. You're a hybrid, right?"

"Nope." He didn't flinch a bit as he said it.

"Seriously? I'd have thought you were some-"

"Some kind of wolf-fox hybrid? Yeah, you're not the first. Won't be the last, I'm sure," he adds with a shrug.

"You're shitting me. I'm just _red_ and nobody knows what the fuck I am, even though they've got two chances to be half-right, and you're telling me that, as weird as you look, you're just one species?"

He leans back, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Yeah, and to save you from the guessing game I'm a maned wolf. The name's misleading, because I'm not actually a wolf. I'm not a fox either, for that matter. Separate species. What are _you?_ "

My turn to shrug. "An accident."

"Hey, we got one thing in common."

"Wait, didn't you say you're Asa's cousin? She's pure arctic fox, or she's gotta be close to it."

"I'm adopted. They thought I was a fox and didn't read closely enough. Guess I was just that cute."

"What the hell, then you're not an _accident_. Folks don't adopt by accident."

He laughs. "You don't put up a kid you _wanted_ to have."

I sit in silence for a moment, feeling foolish. "...Oh. Yeah, that makes more sense."

"How's your foot taste?" he chuckles.

"Better than the fucking patty. I'm sick of bug 'meat.'"


	34. Kneecaps Are Good With Ketchup

Motherfuck. Mother. FUCK. All my money. Everything I had. All of it gone, save a few measly dollars. It's a good thing I don't have rent to pay, or I'd be _fucked_. God, I can't believe this city! Five hundred fucking dollars, the bastards, and Zoogle said they were the cheapest optometrist in town!

At least I can fucking see again. After all this technological progress, how is glass the cheapest fucking lens material available? These fucking lenses are the thickest, heaviest things I've ever worn. My eyes can't have gotten _that_ much worse over the past... uh... shit, I guess it _has_ been a while. Whatever. I can see leaves on trees again... and road signs. Traffic lights and stop signs I can identify by color, but anything else kinda has words on it, and those were basically a blur until I was right on top of them.

Harry should be off work soon. I'm picking him up for a show at Giggles, and he wants me to open for him. I think that's a bad idea, truthfully. I don't understand why they laugh at anything I say and Harry's a much more friendly comic than I am. My shows have been devolving more and more into angry tirades lately, and I think I'm becoming a cliche. The tiny, angry man. God. Goodness knows I've got a lot of pent-up anger stuffed in every darkened corner and dusty cubbyhole of my mind, but I always thought I'd let that out through therapy or writing. I never thought anyone might _laugh_ at that shit.

Fuck, was that my turn? Goddamnit, it WAS! I was too busy thinking, and too busy _seeing things_ to remember my goddamn turn! Son of a bitch, what the fuck is wrong with me?! Take Prairie past the old shopping center with all the neon, then right at the second light! Goddamnit. I hate this area specifically, whoever set up the roads around here was just trying to piss me off. Pedestrian crossings that make no sense, special lanes for buses that only run through here once every three hours during the night, and three one-way streets meeting at one fucking intersection! If they weren't probably long dead, I'd bite their fucking ears off...

I finally make it to the Electric Embryo, and Harry has grown impatient. He'd never say such a thing; he's too chill. But I can tell. He wouldn't be rolling a joint if he weren't tired of waiting. Audie shuffles out of the store, waving to Ed, which gives me an idea. I pull up and set the brake, hopping over to the passenger window and sliding it open. " _Hey! I've got candy_ ," I announce in the most ridiculous creep voice I can think of.

Harry nearly double-takes. "Shit man, you get new peepers? Nice. Bet you can see for miles, now."

"Yeah, I can see all the girls who'll never fuck me with these goddamn Sunflower bottles on my face. Fucking doctor cleaned me out, too."

Audie laughs. "Holy shit, I didn't think they even _made_ glasses like those anymore! Gimme yer lunch money, nerd!" she teases, shaking a fist at me. "Open up, we're climbing aboard."

I let go of the sill and drop onto the seat, pulling the latch and popping the door for them. "These glasses better last me the rest of my life. Five hundred ducks for a fucking doctor visit and one pair- one pair of fucking glasses!"

Harry nearly jumps out of his skin. "Holy shit, how much? Dude, they fucking ripped you off! I'd go to the police with that, there's no _way_ they cost that much."

"Just to see the doctor was two hundred, and these were the cheapest thing they had. I hate this city so much. I've never heard of plain glasses costing that fucking much! The prices here are theft! I've never heard of fish going for thirty ducks a kilogram, but go into any fish shop and you'll have an aneurysm. God, I'm glad Fedor pays me in fish or I'd be fucking starving this week." I take my position at the helm and release the brake, checking my mirror for any motorized assholes coming my way.

Audie settles on the seat next to Harry, prodding him as she tries to convince him to pull that joint back out. "I really don't get that about you. Fish is okay, but you seriously eat it for every meal? I'd get sick of _anything_ after day two." She looks back to Harry. "Come on, I saw you wrapping that thing. Sharing's caring."

"Can't you wait until after the show? And I've told you, there's more than one way to eat a fish. I mean, look at how many ways folks eat bugs. You can do that much or more with fish, and there are different kinds with different tastes, textures..."

She cuts me off. "That's it, I'm writing a cooking show sketch with you as the chef. How do you like _them_ apples?"

Harry swats Audie's paw away, for once declining an opportunity to fill his head with nip. "Shit, I've been wanting to do a cooking bit. We gotta put this thing together ASAP."

I shake my head as I pull into traffic. "Why do you guys always think of weird shit for _me_ to do? Can't you put Chet in a costume or something?"

Harry chuckles. "Because Chet doesn't say things like that. That's why."

 

The crowd starts to file in. Holy shit, this isn't like the open mic crowd at all. These mammals all look like they have jobs and lives... or at least better jobs and better lives than the folks I'm usually performing for. It always bothered me that Gary would let me host open mics but wouldn't let me open for his 'real' performers, but seeing all these well-dressed mammals makes me wonder if he was right. I'm about to find out. And Harry talked him into letting me at them for half an hour.

I pace the green room nervously, going over my act in my head. That bit's good, that one's probably okay... I think I saw some deer in the crowd, should I really use that bit about stealing antlers? Better not. I stop and open the small liquor cabinet, pouring myself a shot of whatever's closest. Ugh... not a fan of whisky. But it's just medicine for now. I down another and cap the bottle, setting it back on the shelf.

"Are you really freaking out about this? You've done actual shows before, haven't you?" Audie asks, slouched beside Harry. "Shit, you look like a kit that's giving a speech in front of class."

"Yeah, I've done 'actual' shows, but not at 'actual' clubs. I mean, there was Chucklenuts that one time, but that was... that was different. I've done just about every shithole dive bar on this side of town, but this is a _real_ club, with _real_ folks who paid _real_ money to hear _real_ jokes. Gary's been running this place for how long? As long as any of us have been alive? Don't you think he just might know what the fuck he's doing with it?"

Harry scratches his belly and tilts his head towards me. "Chill out man, you're gonna do _fine_. If Gary didn't trust me he'd never have hired you for the open mics, and he definitely wouldn't have you opening for me. This is gonna be a big moment for you! Opening for the regular acts is one step before becoming one of the regular acts, and after that you'll be getting other clubs asking you to perform there. And who could travel easier than you? Your van-living is gonna pay off majorly, dude!"

Audie joins Harry in trying to pump me up. "Yeah, who knows, in a few months you might be going between here and the other small cities every other week. Norm says some new place just opened up in Bunnyburrow, of all places, and they're gonna be looking to bring in talent soon."

I rub my forehead. "I really doubt Bunnyburrow's going to reach out for predator talent."

Harry shrugs, rocking his whole body. "Never can say for sure, man. There's preds who live there, too."

A light turns on, signalling that I need to get my ass to the stage. Sophisticated technological concepts are put to good use here at Giggles & Company. It's like we're living in a goddamn sci-fi novel. If I'm not out there soon, Gary might even show up and give me shit. That's always fun. Much as I enjoy it, though, I believe I'll head for the stage.

I shuffle out to center stage, quickly lowering the mic to- son of a bitch, who the fuck used this last? You're not supposed to use tools on this shit, it's paw-tighten only! Goddamn. I succeed in both lowering the microphone and making myself look almost completely inept all at once, and I haven't even said a word. "Good morning, everyone. I'd like to be the first to thank you for coming out today and choosing to spend your time and money with us here at Giggles & Company: your one-stop poor life choices shop. Everyone doing all right? Yeah? You look like it. Nice shirts, lovely dresses... I gotta be honest, though, I expected you'd all look better. I just bought new glasses for the first time in years and wow, I forgot what the word 'ugly' meant. But I didn't have to stand in front of that mirror for long, so it's all good." A smattering of laughter.

"Has anyone else gone that long without updating their prescription? You really get used to it. I know I did. A couple weeks back I lost my good pair and had to go back to an old backup pair, even older. That was pretty bad. I found myself relying more on my nose than my eyes. That made driving really interesting." A decent laugh there. Screw Gary, I think I can do this. "So yeah, new glasses, new look, new outlook. Right? Totally new outlook. Now I can clearly see the expression on girls' faces as they think to themselves, 'wow, I will _never_ fuck that guy.'"

 

Twenty-five minutes. Twenty-five. Goddamn. Minutes. 'Haa haa haa,' he calls out sarcastically, taunting me. He paid money to come in here. He came here with a few friends, who are trying to enjoy themselves, but he came here to be a dick. It's amazing how much detail I can make out in the middle of the crowd with these glasses. What else have I been missing?

"So anyway... can anyone explain to me why this city smells like piss when it's hot out? Is it just me? Am I imagining things, or are all of you just fucking used to it? Because seriously, I've been outside during the day and it was _bad_. I'm no stranger to bad smells. Look, I _make_ some bad smells, but this shit is out of control. Can't they send fuckers around with a hose, try to spray the city down once in a while? Do something, goddamnit! I'm paying taxes here! I can't _vote_ , but doesn't that count for something?"

" _Haa haa haa!_ "

I swallow, my throat dry. My usual glass of wine is empty. I haven't been up for this long for this serious of a show. I'm no stranger to being on stage - hell, I've dedicated most of my adult life to it - but not like this. I'm not hiding behind the shield of a character. I'm completely exposed. It's taken me a lot of work to get to this point, and at any other bar I'd have told this fucker off long ago. I grip the microphone in my paw, trying to pack the stress into a tight, little box that I'll open later with a bottle of spirits. "But while we're talking about smells..."

" _Haaa haaa haaaaa!_ "

"Okay FUCK YOU! What the fuck is your problem?! There are dozens of mammals here who wanted to come here to have a good time, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you? What, did you not have the money for a strip club or a hooker, so you decided to just be a HUGE FUCKING DICK at a comedy club? Maybe this night doesn't mean anything to _you_ , but for me, this is a pretty fucking important show. I've got a lot riding on this and I will fucking kill you if you fuck this up for me!!" I can almost hear Harry and Audie rushing from the green room to watch me crash and burn from offstage. "GET THE FUCK OUT. Don't even finish your drink, you take your stupid ass to the door and don't let your tail get caught on your way out! I hope your friends dump you in the fucking gutter like the trash you are!"

Well, that happened. I see heads turn and bobble throughout the crowd as a... very, very large badger stands up. "I'm gonna snap you in half, you little shit."

Oh fuck. That's a big fucking badger. I nearly stunk my pants. Fuck. But I'm still pissed the off, and I figure I've already blown this, so how much worse can things get? I'm hopped up on rage, and this fucker's dead-center in my fucking sights! I put the mic on its stand and set my glasses aside, facing my challenger's general direction and screaming, teeth bared, "COME ON, MOTHERFUCKER, I'LL BITE YOUR LEGS OFF!"

What feels like ten minutes passes, probably only a few seconds in reality, before I realize he's not coming any closer and I'm actually snarling and growling like a savage. Embarrassed, I wipe my mouth and put my glasses back on, trying my damnedest to move past this and act like it never happened. I grab the microphone and look for my glasses. "Okay... where was I? Something about smells, right? While we're talking about smells, I'm no stranger to them, so don't think I'm complaining because I'm new here. I dated a _skunk_ for a while in college, and if you've never gone down on a skunk... hey shut up, that's not the funny part!" A quiet laugh spreads through the house. I think Gary might not kill me, after all. "You'll do _crazy_ things for love. And honestly, you get used to the smell, but when you're that close to the source... let me put it like this, has anyone else here ever huffed paint?"

 

I finish my set. I thank the crowd, I introduce Harry, and I exit the stage. Hopefully none of them remember that incident. Harry's a lot funnier than I am, they'll probably forget I was even up. That's fine. It's not my job to be remembered, I'm not the one they came to see. My name isn't even posted anywhere, just Harry's. My job is just to get the crowd warmed up for his act. And that job is done. My job now is to pour alcohol on the nervous, adrenalin- and terror-soaked flaming sponge that is my brain. I rush madly, awkwardly to the green room and throw the door open, staggering to the tiny liquor cabinet. Cheap black rum. MY FAVORITE. I pour one shot, two shots, then I eschew my glass in favor of bare-lipping the bottle in a passionate, alcoholic kiss.

I don't even remember Audie's there until she cracks a joke. "Heh. Hey, what _arr_ you, a pirate? Cuz if you are, I'll have to watch me booty carefully!" she laughs, playfully. "Cripes, how stressed are you? This wasn't your first time on-stage."

I pull the bottle away to catch my breath, coughing up a few drops that I mistakenly inhaled as she startled me. "No... no, it's not that. It's-" I stop, finally processing her double entendre. "Oh god, did you just come up with that? That was _bad_."

She cackles as only one who's made a delayed-reaction pun does. I'm admittedly an easy mark, since my grasp of common slang isn't yet native-level. "No regrets. Harry and I were trading horrible pickup lines as you wrapped up, and I'm still thinking of some real stinkers."

I put the bottle down, telling myself I don't need any more. What's in my stomach already will take effect soon enough. "Holy fuck. Did you see what happened out there? I lost my fucking mind, on stage. I've never- I try to run away from fights, or bullshit my way out of them. I was snarling like... like a fucking lunatic! What the fuck was that?!"

Audie takes a calm breath and shrugs. "Iunno. Take a seat, dude. You did get pretty crazy out there, but it happens sometimes. Hecklers - no, hey, bring that bottle over. Hecklers just do that sometimes. I've seen Billie flip _tables_ a couple times at some of the dive bars. I figured you were putting on an act, like that time with the toothpaste."

I slouch beside Audie and hand her the bottle and a glass. I swear I can feel the world swaying just slightly more with each moment. "No, that was an idea. This was just fucking weird. I actually had a thought, I think, that I'd really blown it - when I started swearing up and down this guy, I was sure I'd fucking stepped in it and Gary would be telling me to fuck off as soon as I was done. I mean, he still might, I don't fucking know. He might wait until Harry's done. But I really had this feeling of, 'you've fucked everything up cocksucker, I will _fucking kill you_.' How can that be normal?"

She chokes down a shot and scoffs, giving me such a look that her words are unnecessary. "How can that be normal? Reese, the only _weird_  part about it was the growling. Everyone feels that way with hecklers when they have shit on the line. I've _actually imagined_ following folks out and stabbing them with broken bottles. No, you're fine, dude. I mean... as long as you don't actually flip out and hurt somebody. That shit _will_ get you tossed."

I release a breath and my chest relaxes, as though I'd been holding it in since I left the stage. "...Thanks. I don't know what's going on in my fucking head the past few months or so... I've had some weird-ass thoughts, and sometimes I wonder if I should be worried about them, you know? Like staring at asses, then not being sure if I want to fuck them or bite them. Like _really_ bite them."

"What the fuck, did you _just_ hit puberty or something?? _I_ get those fucking thoughts sometimes, you goddamn pussy. You've got a predator brain, deal with it! We've only been 'civilized' for a few thousand years or something, compared to _millions_ of years of evolution. Hell, I'd be more concerned if you said you'd _never_ thought about biting someone's butt." She shakes her head, chuckling as she readies herself a second shot.

"Well... who _hasn't_ been a little on-edge lately? Tell me some of those pickup lines you and Harry were doing. That sounds more fun than this support-group shit we've got going here."

She grins. "All right, uh, shit... okay, I remember one. 'Excuse me, I've lost my tail. Can I get some from you?'" she laughs, unable to keep a straight face at her level of intoxication.

It's a safe bet she was drinking a little before I got back here. Hell, _I_ was drinking before I got back here. We're comedians, and we're young comedians at that. We've got healthy livers and at least a decade of excessive drinking ahead of us. I chuckle, looking only semi-consciously at her tail. It's a big tail, probably half the size of either of our bodies, but it's all fur. I think it's pretty good as tails go. "Oh shit, I've got one. Okay, okay... 'I don't know if I should ask you out for dinner... or if we should stay _in_ for _dessert_.'" An eyebrow-waggle tops it off, a red cherry of discomfort atop the creep sundae I just scooped up.

"Oh fuck, that's so bad I wished I had mace for a second," she laughs, pantomiming spraying me with a vocalized psshhhh.

I scream sarcastically, pawing at my face. "Ha, I wonder if mace would even work on me. I've stuck my face in some pretty fucking strong smells by choice, I'm not even kidding."

"What, like a skunk's cooch?" she laughs, surprise in her eyes as I nod. "Are you fucking serious?! That's so fucked up, I thought you were joking about that. I didn't think anyone could stand something like that!"

I shrug. "Hey, you've smelled some of the shit I eat, you remember that can of fish? And that wasn't even the _strong_ shit. I mean, if skunks can get used to it, anyone can, I just had kind of a head-start."

"A _giving­_ -head start," she chuckles, to which I groan playfully.


	35. Vagabondage

I sit on a soft, lichen-covered stone. Salt-scented air blows past as seabirds call in the distance, perhaps searching for a member of their flock. Do birds have friends, I wonder? Certainly some of them do; parrots are probably smarter than some of the mammals I've met in my life. But parrots live thousands of miles away, most of them in the southern hemisphere. No birds here come close to that. Auks don't have friends, just seasonal mates. (They do have blood enemies, though. I've seen it.) But if they're looking for this one, they're out of luck. I tear hungrily at its plumage, eager to pluck it bare. No sense spoiling my supper with worthless feathers! A few don't hurt, I mean, everyone needs a little fiber in their diet, but the taste and the texture are nothing to write home about. I'd rather get to the good bits inside.

My little beach camp probably isn't as complete as most mammals would expect it to be. There's no campfire, for good reason: there's no goddamn wood here. Not a single tree on any of the islands that make up Lundøyar, the tiny, frostbitten archipelago I call home. It's too windy for trees to grow much higher than a sprout, and even if it weren't, there's too much salt and sea spray for them anyway. I've heard some folks talk about trees that can handle salt, mam-groves or something, but as far as I know they grow where it never freezes. Wouldn't do well here.

But since I've no campfire, just how am I to cook and eat this delicious, plump-breasted seabird? This surprises some mammals to learn, but there are ways to cook _without_ heat. Meat and fish can be cured with salt, which is a very common method here. All you really have to do is clean it, salt it, and leave it hanging in the wind, and nature does the work for you. Fermentation is another. To do that, you just leave it hanging a little longer, maybe a few weeks to a few months, and some kind of bacteria or something kill all the other bacteria. You have to keep an eye on it though, make sure the conditions are right or you'll just end up with a ruined hunk of crap. I've actually heard of another way, but I haven't had the chance to taste it. Down south, way south, they use lemon juice or something and that kills the bacteria. Seveechy, or something. I'd like to try it sometime. It's fish, after all, and I love me some fish. But you already knew that.

There is, however, a fourth option. I've tried explaining this to many mammals I've met, but they all seem just horrified: _raw food_. For most of history predators just ate prey raw, and they didn't suffer too bad for it. I mean, we're here now, aren't we? Sure, you get the occasional parasite, but when it's a choice between starvation and a little stomach pain, you'd take the stomach pain and emerge stronger when it's done. I've got a goddamn iron gut is what I've got! Norm may be able to put away twice my weight as a midday meal, but he goes pale at the thought of eating anything raw besides sushi.

I shuffle to the water's edge, rinsing my paws in the sea, and return to my catch. Most of the meat I'll leave out to dry and cure in the salt air, as I described before. I'll be able to scrape plenty of salt off the rocks around me in no time. Some of the organs I'll treat the same, but there's one I prefer raw. The best piece in my opinion, my favorite part of the bird! I pluck the dark, almost maroon morsel from the bird's abdomen and bring it to my eager mou-

 

BANG BANG.

I jerk awake, my eyes cruddy and unfocused. Fumbling around, I find my glasses and set them on my snout, looking around for- OH GODDAMNIT. I'm sitting naked in a pile of feathers that _was_ my good pillow, but after today's dream is just another mess. What a way to start my fucking night.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Oh for the love of... I hold up a shirt to shield my tackle from the cold air and throw the door open, staring up at Fedor. "I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME GODDAMNIT, LET A GUY GET DRESSED!" I shout, yanking the door shut and scrambling for my clothes. Of all the 'clever' ideas I've come up with, parking behind Fedor's shop to gain a little extra sleep is the most... fuck, I don't know if there's a single word for that. It's a double-edged sword is what it is, because while I get that extra sleep, I get woken up mere minutes before I'm supposed to start working with no time to really wake up properly. I pull on some pants, a shirt, and a light sweater, then hop down out of my van to begin another night's work.

" _Golyy idiot_. You ever hear of set alarm? That way wake up before time to work, not have Fedor banging on door!" He grumbles as he leads me up the steps to the back door. "Also, new invention to tell you about. They call pajamas, they clothes you wear to bed so not have to sleep naked like fucking cave dweller." I grumble a reply under my breath and follow him into the shop, making a beeline for my station. "Stop," he calls, pulling an envelope from his coat. "We have business."

I sigh the long, tired sigh of a mammal who just wants to go back to sleep. "Uh, yeah, I _know_ we have business. I work for you, you pay me cash under the table and all the fish I can carry. Now how about I get to what you're paying me for?" I know goddamn well I'm working illegally. I looked this shit up recently; he's supposed to provide me a pay stub, I'm supposed to be paying income tax, all sorts of things that I know aren't happening. But given that he has me cleaning and processing smuggled fucking fish, I'm really not surprised this place isn't run in accordance with the law. And all things considered, I don't think I'd find as sweet a deal anywhere else. When the free food's counted with it, my pay is pretty fucking competitive, and I barely even worry about police raids anymore. Whoever Fedor's friends are fucking own this area and those bears in the lobby would wipe the floor with anyone who tried to break down the door, ZPD or otherwise.

He snorts, but not in an amused way. "You think I forget this?" he growls, waving the envelope before tossing it to me. "License. Registration. Visa. Next time Fedor does you a favor, you say, 'thank you.' Not give sass. Three favors I do, now three favors you do. First, you start driving deliveries. You still clean fish, but you put goddamn fish van to work. Second favor you do tonight."

I can feel my fur bristle as he grins. I really don't like this grin. "Uh, hey, if you want me to break into another city building, you better not have the fucking key on you. You're not pulling that shit again."

He laughs. "Funny boy hate jokes now? Maybe quit comedy, work full-time like grown-ass goddamn man?" He drops his smile and pulls a cigar from his pocket. "Closing early tonight. Big birthday party, good customer and good friend's daughter has birthday. Sweet little cub, maybe..." he looks to his paw, trying to indicate a height. "About your size, turning five. I am bringing fish, of course, and also entertainment." He chomps his unlit cigar and stares at me, almost expectantly.

"...Wait, what? Uh, no," I chuckle, "not from me. I don't know if you've seen what I do, but it's _not_ cub-friendly." I'm assuming species here. Friend's kid, toddler, my size? He's talking about a bear. Daughter of some mob official, I guarantee it. "I mean, yeah, I'm an actor, but I haven't rehearsed anything, I don't have anything to rehearse, and I prefer a more mature audience for a few reasons."

Fedor tilts his head, as if nothing I'd just said made any sense to him. "But you perfect for the job. This is just like what you do. You jump in, you make audience laugh, you fuck off!" He pauses to light his cigar. "Except tonight you do it for little cubs. Sort of different, yes," he shrugs, exhaling a cloud of smoke between two racks of frozen fish. "But easier. Children laugh at anything, and everybody love a clown."

The exact nature of this 'favor' hits me. This motherfucker thinks I'm a fucking clown?! "You're shitting me. What the fuck makes you think I'm in any way a clown?!"

He blinks, seemingly surprised. "But you are! You tell story, make everyone laugh, get paid!" A smirk returns to his face. "You are clown, Reese. Maybe different kind of clown, not wear silly suit, but that change for tonight. I get van registered for year, you play birthday clown for hour. See? Is incredible deal, never find better. Or if don't want to return favor I can take license, take van, take-"

"ALL RIGHT, FUCK, I'll... I'll fucking do it." Goddamnit. I hate children's shows. I hate _children_. But that van's everything I have. This asshole... I should have taken care of the registration myself, never thought I'd end up with this kind of shit on my plate. "You're a real son of a bitch, you know that?"

He laughs. He _fucking laughs_. "Eh, this is true. But Fedor is good son of bitch to work for. Go, fish not fucking clean themselves. Clean as much fish as normal night, you can take one - ONE crab when done. See? Best son of bitch to work for."

I sigh and turn towards my station. He better give me that fucking crab.

 

I drive slowly behind Fedor as he leads me to the 'venue.' Holy fucking shit. I've seen ISLANDS smaller than some of these houses, and those islands had entire _villages_ on them. What the fuck am I getting into here? These rich fuckers can't - oh, I don't know - hire a REAL clown?! You know, someone who knows what the fuck they're doing, who can twist balloons into shapes, and who has a real fucking clown suit? For fuck's sake, all I've got are a half-dozen theatrical costumes, and none of them are particularly humorous. Why did I give away that fucking Pierrot suit?! ...Hang on, that gives me an idea.

Worn, baggy trousers, a ratty jacket, and the only tie I own tied loose around my neck. My granddad's old fishing hat. I continue to dig, searching for whatever face paint I may have left that hasn't dried out or leaked all over. A couple shriveled tubes of grease paint, red and black. It'll have to do. I smear the red on my nose, cringing at the rancid smell, and carefully go over my lips with the black. I don't want to think about how bad this stuff tastes if the smell's gotten so much worse. I scramble to check my reflection in the back of a CD and sigh. Since I first came to this city I've been very deliberately suppressing the knowledge that I'm legally and technically homeless, but this outfit kind of... no, fuck that, this outfit _absolutely_ hurts on an emotional level. With a groan, I heft a makeshift bindle onto my shoulder and open the door, hopping out in front of Fedor.

"...What the _fuck_."

I stare back at him, showing no emotion. Is that creepy? Usually clowns show one of two emotions, but no emotion might actually be scary, unlike that done-to-death 'creepy clown' bullshit. I feel bad for real clowns in that regard. They're entertainers, too. We're really not that different, technically, and they get hurt every time someone puts out another piece of shit movie with a clown that eats folks. I take a deep breath. "The fuck did I tell you, Fedor? I'm not a clown, I don't do kids' shows, and I don't have funny costumes. This is the best you're going to get, unless you or the filthy-rich fucker who lives here wants to hire an _actual_ clown."

He shakes his head and opens his trunk, pulling out a large bag of fish. " _Sukin syn_... if you fuck this up, it land on _my_ head. What you going to do, eat beans from can? Pretend to walk railroad? How this any kind of birthday clown?"

I smack my head with both paws and throw my arms wide in a shrug, scowling. "Yeah! Good thing it's falling on _your_ head, it was _your_ fucking idea!"

"You think this fucking funny?! You supposed to be clown, not hobo!"

I smile unamusedly and shrug again, resting my bindle on my shoulder. "Well... I mean, hobo clowns are a thing. Maybe next time you volunteer me for something, you fucking ask me first," I snarl, jabbing a finger towards him. "Now if you don't mind, I think the only way I can come close to pulling this off is if I'm halfway drunk or stoned. So you go ahead and take the fish inside, I'll be in my trailer 'rehearsing.'"

 

I stumble out of my van after an intense session of character-building just as Fedor comes to collect me. He staggers back at the smell - obviously not into the nip himself, or he'd have expected it. " _Kakago cherta!_ You smell like skunk's pussy!"

I bark a single, staccato laugh of half-amusement. "Like _you'd_ know what that smells like," I add, brushing myself with a dryer sheet to mitigate the worst of it. "I _told_ you I was gonna get wasted. Now where's the party, I've got a reputation to ruin." I feel a small sense of victory as he sighs, keeping his mouth shut. He's obviously not used to dealing with actors, especially idiot big-ego assholes like me. Good! Maybe he should stick to fucking catering. I follow as he turns and leads me to the door, going over what little I've put together of a routine. Shit... I really shouldn't have done the nip. The drinking alone was plenty to lower my standards. "Okay, here's the deal. I'll get into that box there, and you just set it down where you want me to do this. I'll sneak out of the box like I've been stowed away in it, and I'll introduce myself, then I-"

"Sound like shit."

I take a deep breath. "Okay, so hire a _real_ clown. Oh no, it's too late! You wanted me to return a favor and real clowns work by appointment, and you don't have fucking time to do that." I clear my throat and continue. "Like I was saying. I'll introduce myself. 'Hey kids, I'm Soup Can Sam!' and I'll do a little pantomime, fall on my ass, tell some shitty jokes that kids would like. Can you think of anything else I should do? I don't have face paint or balloons or anything, so this is gonna be a pretty lousy show anyway."

Fedor sighs again. " _Bozhe moi_. You are comedian, you fucking think of! Why asking me?"

"Wow, I think your grammar gets worse the angrier you get." A little personal, I admit, and though he's shaking a fist at me, I know he's not going to go inside and tell his friend that he just knocked out the clown and ruined his daughter's birthday.

We finally step inside and the scale of this place is unbelievable. It takes me three steps just to get over the threshold, and I'd need a ladder just to reach the mail slot. The ceiling must be five meters high! You could add four floors to each room and make fucking apartments for mammals my size. Shit, I'd hate to see how much it costs to heat this place, but they're probably smuggling the fuel in like Fedor smuggles his seafood.

"Quit stargazing. Get in box."

Oh, right. I climb into the box and hunker down, trying to keep still in order to... uh... shit, that nip's really starting to hit me. Is there a reason for this or is half of my brain making shit up and not telling the other side? Fedor just put me down on something, but I don't think it's my stage, because we're still moving. Fuck, why's he swaying so much? Is he _trying_ to drop me?! Probably is, the sonofabitch isn't too happy with my ideas so far so I guarantee he's trying to get back at me by AH FUCK

I shake my head, putting my hat back on and catching my breath. I think I'm on the floor. Just got to... oh goddamnit, the box landed open-side down! What the hell, so much for the entrance I had planned. I don't hear anything from outside. Did he drop me on the floor before we even got there? Asshole. I poke a claw at the tape sealing me in my cardboard sarcophagus and groan as it sticks to my fur. That's pretty sticky tape. I poke again, piercing the film and tearing my way out of the box to see about two dozen giant children and even more absolutely huge adults all staring at me in the middle of a clearing. The older members of the audience all slowly shift their gaze to Fedor, whom I've never seen so uncomfortable.

I take a breath and climb out of the box, setting my bindle on my shoulder and looking around as I stick my free paw in my pocket. "Well hey kids, my name's Soup Can Sam, and I-" trip on my baggy fucking trousers, falling flat on my face to the sound of children laughing.

 

" _Proklyat'ye_ , that will be last time he ask _me_ for favor. At least kids liked it," Fedor groans, shuffling quasi-drunkenly back to his car.

I grab a couple pawfuls of snow and rub it over my face, getting some of the paint off and giving some sweet relief to my bruised snout. "Good. Maybe you won't ask me to be a fucking party clown again! _Ow_ , fuck, ow..."

He stops, turning to face me. "You lucky kids like you. You know how many parents in there wanted to throw you in trash compactor? Why you insult them? Funny boy have death wish?!"

I shrug. "If they didn't want me making fun of them, they shouldn't have made themselves such easy targets! That's what you get when you hire a comedian with no prepared material. You get me making fun of kids' parents, right in front of their kids where I _know_ they won't fucking touch me. And don't think I didn't see you laughing your ass off in the corner! I fucking _killed_ , and the only time anyone in there wasn't laughing was when it was their turn to be the butt."

Fedor runs a paw down his face, muttering something I don't understand, yet don't need to. I think I can pick up the meaning from his tone. He looks at me again and sighs. "Next time you work, you drive delivery. Think you can handle that without pissing off powerful mammals?!"

I snort. "Yeah. Now unless I'm mistaken, _you_ promised me a crab," I add, holding out my paws. Fedor growls something and reaches into his car, tossing me a whole blue crab.

" _Bezumnyy mal'chik-idiot budet ubit_..."

I climb into my van, eyeing my prize hungrily. So fresh, so large, so succulent! I can't keep this all to myself. A feast like this has to be shared, or at least that's what my granddad always said. He probably just didn't want to gorge on crab and make himself sick, or he wanted me to think he was sharing with me for reasons other than favoritism. I still don't know why he liked me over my dozen or so cousins, but it helped that they all lived on other islands.

I pull out my phone and open my contacts. Audie sits right there at the top, thanks to the magic of alphabetical order. I'm sure she'd like to get in on this, and I know just the way to ask.

Audie sits with her parents at a restaurant, the kind that is never built anywhere near an actual residential neighborhood but calls itself a neighborhood restaurant anyway to charm old farts and office workers. She pulls her phone out and laughs. "Oh shit, here's that guy I told you about. Like _half_ of the stuff he says is unintentionally funny in one way or another, lemme put him on speaker for a sec." She pokes the icon and sets the phone down, speaking towards it. "Hey Candyman, what's up?"

" _Hey Audie, I've got crabs! You want some?_ "

She snatches her phone back in a fit of panic, madly poking at icons as she begins to feel the disapproving stares of middle-aged mammals coming from all around her.

Huh, I guess we got disconnected. I'll try Harry and call her back.


	36. Double Dragon

Norm rises from his old, sagging couch with a groaning yawn and scratches his back - or as much of it as he can reach. Pizza boxes, strewn about like wreckage after a tornado, elicit another groan. Mama didn't raise no slob, he tells himself, as he bends down to gather them up. He looks around and sees his friends passed out around the room. Harry, only his paws and feet visible sticking out of bean bag chair, appears to have used a large bag of _INSANE CHEEZ!!!_ Cicada Puffs as a blanket. Audie's draped limp over the back of the couch, Billie's sitting upright in a chair with her mouth agape towards the ceiling, and Chet fell asleep in a folding chair with his laptop resting quite appropriately upon his lap. Probably stayed up for hours after everyone else editing last night's video.

He stretches a bit and remembers the pizza boxes in his paws, stuffing them under one arm and trundling to the kitchen. He'll just fold these up and shove 'em in the can. If he pushes hard enough, he can probably leave that bag in there for another week unless it tears. Mama didn't raise no slob, but that don't mean he ain't lazy, especially this early in the evening. Hell, he can barely talk before breakfast. Breakfast! Now there's an idea, he thinks, as the corners of his mouth rise of their own free will. Why, that'd be just the thing right now, and there's probably plenty to eat in the fridge. Mama saw to it he never went hungry growing up, and he's kept that up. No matter how lean his pocketbook's gotten over the years, he's _always_ budgeted for food. It's helped a few of his friends over the years, though he's had to go without certain luxuries from time to time; after all, who really needs a cell phone _all the time_  anyway? He ain't no CEO!

He crams the boxes into the garbage can, pushing the lid down to keep the smells inside. It rises slightly due to the compressed waste within, but he reaches a paw in and gives it all another shove. There, that does it. Now onto breakfast! He rubs his paws as he approaches the fridge, that magical closet that keeps all his favorite things fresh and tasty. He gently opens the door, as though he were sneaking through an old house, and shouts in surprise.

"Holy shit! What just happened?!" Harry cries, throwing cheesy, air-baked insects all over.

Norm can scarcely answer through fits of laughter, gasping for breath as he lifts himself from the floor. "I ca- he's- he's in the fuckin' fridge, man!"

Harry makes his way into the kitchen and past Norm, staring into the refrigerator with a sigh. "Man... least he kept his pants on, the fuckin' maniac. Where's your cereal? I'm goddamn starving."

Norm points Harry to the pantry and turns his attention back to me, his laughter fading as his playful pokes fail to wake me. "Yo, Reese? Dude, wake up. You're on my yogurts, man, that ain't cool, I need one. Harry? Hey, you can't freeze to death in a fridge, right? 'Cuz I'm kinda freakin' out a little bit."

Harry returns, stuffing pawfuls of dry cereal into his mouth from a box gripped in his other arm. "Well he's breathing, he's probably just dead asleep. He does that sometimes. Pick him up and see if he does anything."

Norm picks me up in one paw, watching curiously as I dangle like a limp noodle in his grasp. "Oh yeah, you're right, he's breathing. Reese! Yo buddy, wake up!"

Billie shuffles in like a ray of sunshine, so filled with joy and love for all God's- "What the fuck are you cocksuckers yapping about? I'm trying to fucking sleep out there." Just kidding! She's even more bitchy than usual because she just woke up! Don't lie, I had you going for a second.

Harry pats Norm on the arm and shrugs. "Nah, he's out for a while, man, may as well leave him be. He'll wake up whenever."

Billie stops and pivots on her heel, poking back into the kitchen. "Wait, what's going on? Is he dead-sleeping?"

Norm and Harry look back to her, Norm being kind enough to turn me so as to face her as well. "Dead what?"

"Holy shit, I didn't know that was like, a weasel thing, Audie does that too sometimes! Hang on, I'll be right back!" True to her word, she returns within seconds carrying Audie in her paws. "Oh fuck. Oh shit, Harry, get the fucking camera, this is gonna be awesome."

"Okay. What're we doing?"

"Whatever the fuck we _want!_ Whenever I catch her sleeping like this I just, like, I make her do shit like a puppet and it makes my fucking _week_. Get the camera!"

 

The scene is set. An ancient temple, worn by the ravages of the centuries, plays host to a battle that must be won. The two reluctant warriors stand and face each other, silent in the face of death.

Billie lifts Audie by the arms and makes her swing her paws around, imitating (badly) some kind of kung-fu bullshit. "You have dishonored my family!" she cries, speaking quickly and in a terribly offensive accent.

Norm, holding me by the arms as well, responds with just as ridiculous a display, wobbling my head as he dubs me. "Your master was a fool to train you! I did him a favor when I killed him!"

Billie stifles a laugh as she thinks of her retort. "You never killed my master. You killed his evil twin!"

"Scoundrel!" Norm snaps, dubbing me in a far deeper tone than even he usually speaks with. "Your death will be my greatest work of art! HAI-YA!"

The two fighters 'leap' at one another, punching and kicking like socks full of wet sand. A flurry of blows here, a roundhouse-kick there, and the fight comes to a standstill.

"You are stronger than I expected," Norm growls. "But you are no match for the School of the Flying Phoenix!"

Billie laughs derisively. "Your Flying Phoenix is no match for my Dancing Dragon! Have at ye!"

As they bring us in for another minute of awkward, floppy puppet fighting, Chet and Harry are biting their lips behind the camera as tears run down their cheeks. Center punch! Karate chop! Scorpion sting! The scene reaches a fever pitch and both warriors pause to catch their breath.

"It would seem... we are evenly matched." Norm bobs me up and down as though I were panting. "I will not accept this."

"You can hide from the truth, Lo Mein, but you will never escape it. It is true, we are Yin and Yang, and neither of us can exist without the other, as much as I hate to admit it!"

"Impossible! I made a vow to my master that I would only bed the woman who I could not defeat!"

Billie chokes back a laugh, clamping her lips together with all the force she can muster. "Is that a green dragon sword in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?"

In absolute preteen girl fashion, the two morons holding Audie and me bring us together repeatedly, adding fake, stupid 'mwah' sounds on each impact. And when I say impact, I mean they're mashing us together pretty good, so it's no surprise that one of us should finally wake. My eyes crack open as I smack into something... something dark, soft, and fragrant. I open them a little more and WHAT THE FUCK.

There's an old saying I've learned that says, 'you should never bite the paw that feeds you.' That's a good lesson, I think, and it's largely true. You shouldn't piss off whoever's feeding and/or paying you, lest they stop feeding and/or paying you. However, if you've just woken up with a hangover in the middle of a non-consensual puppet show, you should _definitely_ bite the paw that's playing with you. Fortunately for Norm, he has both thick fur and thick skin to protect him from my _relatively_ small teeth.  
  
Unfortunately for him, I have _very_ good jaw strength.

"OH SHIT, OH SHIT, GET HIM OFF! HE WON'T LET GO!"

In a textbook show of male solidarity, Harry falls down laughing as Chet lifts the camera higher to get some absolutely  _choice_ footage for ZooTube. "Dude, swing him around more! I wanna see how god he's got you!" Meanwhile, Audie wakes up due to the screaming, her first sight of the evening being Norm trying gingerly to pull me off his paw.

"Ow, shit! Man, let go, it's _me!_ OW! Goddamnit!"

Audie blinks groggily, looking around at the chaos she's awoken into. "Shit... hey Billie, you wanna put me down? I gotta use the ladies' room." Clearly she has woken up in Billie's paws plenty of times.

Minutes later, after I've stopped trying to bite Norm, I finally come out of my stupor. "Hey, where's the food? I've got the hunger of the beast. _Please_ tell me it's not all wheat and shit, I need _meat_."

"Shit mammal, you find your own meat, you ain't gettin' none of me!" Norm laughs, rubbing between his thumb and forefinger. "You get _mean_ when you just wake up, huh?"

"I do what? Fucking... where's that pizza? I know you didn't eat all of it."

Harry chuckles as he stuffs another pawful of dry cereal in his maw. "Man, you know Norm doesn't leave leftovers. He can't, especially if _I'm_ around."

"Okay. Well we've probably got three minutes before I try to eat somebody in this room, so there better be some goddamn real food in the fridge." I stalk off to the kitchen to forage, grumbling tiredly as I go.

Audie returns from the bathroom to see Chet on his computer. "Hey Chet, you get that video done? I wanna see how it came out."

Chet inhales, waiting for an upload to finish. "Yep, sure did. But why don't we wait, maybe get some breakfast before Reese goes all Viking on the rest of us?"

 

Somber music plays. Norm sits in a chair with his paws out of frame, resting on his lap, as he sighs sadly. "My name is Artie Whistler, and I was born with a rare condition."

Billie's voice begins, narrating as if for a documentary. "Artie suffers from a condition known as Mustelitis, a very rare birth defect that makes his life extremely difficult. Join us as we follow him through a normal day where he shows us that, despite his handicap, his strength and courage are certainly not disabled."

The scene shifts to Norm - that is, Artie - busying himself about the kitchen as he makes his lunch. He can't seem to hold onto anything very well, and he pleads vocally with his paws to behave. "Come on, work with me here!" It's no use. He turns to the camera with a shrug, as he shows off his deformity. Audie and I poke our heads out of the ends of his sleeves and look around curiously, both of us dyed black to match his pelt.

The scene changes again, to Billie - dressed smartly, and sitting very primly in a chair - asking the unfortunate sonofabitch a series of questions. "So what was growing up like, being born with weasels for paws?"

He looks down at the brainless, angry creatures that God gave him instead of paws. "Well, school was pretty rough. My penmanship's terrible, and even then Ricky's gotta be in the mood to hold the pen."

"Ricky?" She asks, cocking her head to look interested.

"Yeah, I named 'em when I was just little. I call this one Ricky, 'cuz he's on the right, and this one Larry, 'cuz he's on the left. I figured they needed names."

"How do you hold onto anything?"

He sighs. "Holding anything is tough. It's gotta be small enough to fit in their mouths and they won't bite down on anything hard. I can't drive, I can't hold a job where you gotta type stuff or handle money, and they get real ornery sometimes." Cut to a short clip of Artie trying to convince an angry, hissing weasel to bite down on a rubber-handled fork. "Man, I gotta eat too, come on!"

Back to the interview. "What do they do by themselves? They don't talk, do they?"

He shakes his head. "Nah, they got personalities, but they don't talk. They don't fight as much as they used to, though. That's been good." Cut to another clip of Artie lying in bed, awoken once again by a vicious, screaming weasel fight happening atop his belly. "Goddamnit! I will put socks on you two if you don't quit it!"

The scene returns to the interview. Billie looks at a notepad, then back up to Artie. "How to mammals react when they see them?"

Artie considers his answer. "I try to stay inside most of the time. I get disability checks, and I have a helper who comes by daily, but when I have to go out, I try to keep 'em in my pockets. They used to get real mad," he chuckles, smiling for the first time, "but they/re used to it now."

"Have you ever thought of surgery? Prosthetics? Anything like that?"

He sighs, looking down slightly. "Yeah... yeah, I did, for a long time. But they're a part of me, you know? I can't just get rid of 'em. That ain't fair to them. It may make things harder on me, but they're kinda like friends, you know? They're always there when I really need 'em, even if they can't talk or do nothing."

Billie looks to the camera. "An inspiration to us all," she says, as the scene blurs and a fake charity name pops onto the screen. 'The Mustelitis Foundation,' a silly, ficticious organization supporting sufferers of a ridiculous made-up disease.

 

We all stare in silence, contemplating the video we just watched. Norm wanders off to pick up our order from the counter - none of it proper breakfast tood, by the way. The vote was four to two in favor of La Cucaracha, a place that doesn't serve breakfast, against one vote each for 'going to a grocery store' and 'whatever Reese can pull out of the river.' The latter was Billie being sarcastic, just so you know.

"I think it turned out pretty good," Audie chirps, looking to Chet.

Norm returns with a large tray, laden with quasi-ethnic food extruded from a tube into a starch wrapper. "Just because none of us laughed don't mean it isn't funny, we just been thinking about it nonstop for hours already." He begins passing out food.

Chet sighs, staring at his phone with a stern look of thought etched across his face. "It's not that, I'm pretty happy with it. I'm just kinda upset the other video's got ten times the views already."

Harry almost jumps. "Wait, seriously? It hasn't been up for an hour!"

"Right?! We should just do shit like that, because we'd have a hard time writing _anything_ that fucking funny," he laughs, showing Harry the count.

"A hundred and twelve? You're _shitting_ me."

Billie shrugs. "Well, whatever you were smoking when you came up with that sketch must be no good," she jokes, digging into a steamy, saucy Chaluparito. "Just do more of  _that_." Cheese and rice, don't talk with food in your mouth, you barbarian!

I stare at my sad, small burrito, filled about half-and-half with spiced bug 'meat' and sour cream. I have valid reasons for not wanting to come here. It's too fucking spicy, for one, and maybe I _am_ a pussy when it comes to heat, but goddamnit, the only way I can choke it down is to slather it with sour cream and I do _not_ do well with most dairy! I look to Chet, trying to postpone the inevitable with a genuine question. "What other video, something you forgot to upload before? We only shot one yesterday, didn't we?"

Chet glances between his phone and me and sucks his lips into his mouth. Is that a bad sign? I feel like that's usually a bad sign. "Yeeeah, uh... we kinda made another video real quick and dirty this evening when you were still asleep. Audie, too. Since you'll see it sooner or later, I think it's better if we get this over with now." He sets his phone down in front of Audie and me and we scoot in to watch.

The screen is dark. A bamboo flute plays a flourish. An oriental-style temple fades into view, a stunning mountain scene behind it, as words scroll into view. _Duel Between Dragons of East and West_. A gong sounds, and the scene changes immediately to Norm's living room and WHAT THE FUCK!

"What the FUCK, guys?! This is... what is _wrong_ with you? Can a guy get a little fucking sleep without- without being treated like a _puppet?_ " Forgetting to use my inside voice, I completely drown out both the sound of Audie's laughter and the cheesy punching sound effects.

"Woah, dude, chill out! The best part's coming, you got your payback, trust me," Chet hisses, waving a paw at me in an effort to quiet my protests. I neither notice nor care that I'm attracting undue attention.

" _Is that a green dragon sword in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?_ "

Audie's laughter stops, and I'm pretty much too shocked to scream more epithets at the moment. Does this cross into a grey area, or are there laws against this kind of act? It doesn't last long before I apparently wake up and start eating Norm, though, and it finally becomes _almost_ funny. Audie seems to disagree, given that she's now laughing even louder than before. I myself feel a slight sense of pride as I watch Norm rub his paw, reminded of the pain by the sound of his own screaming.

I breathe a long sigh, trying to calm myself enough to speak. "Okay. The next time any one of you even  _touches_ me, I'm biting your paw off. That sounds fair, right?" In truth there's not much I can do about it, being so much smaller than half of our group. When I first left home it was such a change to be smaller than almost everyone! It was bliss, not hitting my head on things or being insulted for my height. That wore off pretty quickly as I became used to living in a world built to accommodate the largest of mammals. "I swear on my _ancestors_ that I-" I stop, growling impotently as Audie tests my ultimatum by repeatedly grabbing pawfuls of my fur through my shirt, making squeaky-toy noises as she does.

" _Squeak-y! Squeak-y!_ Calm down, Candyman, no harm done. It's all in good fun! We'll work that bad attitude out of you sooner or later," she laughs.

 _You're lucky you're cute_ , I think, growling softly as I sit back down to eat the pseudo-Mexican food-type product in front of me. "Quit poking me, Oyster."

Audie clamps her mouth shut and withdraws her paws, looking like her brain's been caught between erupting into yet more laughter or spontaneously combusting due to embarrassment.

"... _Oyster?_ " Billie asks, trying to figure it out. "Wait, do I want to know, or is it some weird foreign thing?"

Audie speaks before I can. "It's a foreign thing, inside joke, he'd have to... uh, there was a lot of explanation behind it. You wouldn't enjoy it." She turns to me expectantly, the look in her eyes clearly communicating to me that if I don't back her up she will chop me up and feed me to a lizard. Or... she'll tie me to a brick and throw me in the bay? Her precise meaning is unclear, but the gist of the message is hard to miss.

I straighten my glasses and swallow. "Yeah, I mean, there's like a thirty-minute lecture on history before you even get to the joke."

Billie half-sneers. I figured that'd turn her off of it.

 

We leave the restaurant - if you can call it that - and split up, heading off to our respective business for the night. Billie and Audie catch a bus, Chet and Norm walk back to Norm's, and Harry hitches a ride with me. I pull the door open and climb up into my van, looking over my shoulder as Harry snickers. "What?"

"Nothing, man. I just think it's hilarious the way you have to jump up into that. Why not drive something smaller?"

I shrug. "What, and get run over by some old, blind elephant in a monster truck? Besides, I couldn't afford an _apartment_ with this much space."

"Uh, you totally could, dude."

"Yeah, well this way I don't have to worry about fleas or bedbugs. Or _neighbors_. And if it gets too goddamn hot, I can just go live in Tundratown for a few days!"

"Or sleep in someone's fridge?" he laughs, poking me with his wit.

"I'm a cold-weather creature and you know it. Are you bumming a ride or not?"

That puts a little hustle in his ass. "Yeah, yeah, all right already." He climbs aboard and pulls the door shut, following me up front to his usual seat. We pull into traffic and set course for his apartment, perhaps to partake in a productive night of being stoned, useless shitheads.

He turns to me. "Oh hey, I forgot to tell you about this one earlier, we thought of it a few days ago. So Norm is in the market for a water pipe, and I've been showing him some of the stuff in the special order catalogue. He's got his eye on _El Chalupa Grande_ , and just from the specs, I think you might actually fit _inside_ it. I thought it'd be a good bit to put on video, see what happens when he takes that first hit! You interested?"

I crane my neck, trying to see past other vehicles for a moment. "Why do so many of you guys' ideas involve putting me in things?"

"Dude, it's not personal, it's just that you're the littlest one around. It's classic comedy."

"Audie's not that much bigger than me. Why don't you bother her with those?"

"Well, yeah, but she'd be a lot more willing to do it, and you not liking it makes it funnier."

"You guys are assholes."

He shrugs. "Yeah, I know that. It's kind of a requirement for comedy. You gotta be some kind of asshole."

I remain quiet for a moment, then sigh. "Let me think about it."

"Sweet." We continue driving for a while. We're not going terribly far, but it's taking a long time due to road work. I've never _seen_ beavers out so late, can't they do this shit during the fucking day? Did they forget that this is a mostly _nocturnal_ neighborhood?! Fucking idiots! Harry turns to me again. "Oh hey, I was gonna ask you something else."

He wants to put me in something, I just know it. What is it this time? A piñata? A mailbox? A regular box, and see how long it takes to mail me across town? "If it's about putting me in a mailbox, I think that's a crime."

"No, no... I asked Colin about that before, I know all about that. This is about something you said."

"What, I get another word wrong?" I'm not Zootopia-level fluent, especially on their weird slang. It sometimes happens that I hear or use a word incorrectly. "I thought I was using regular words. What was it?"

"Nah, nothing like that. I just wanna know what's behind that oyster thing. I've never seen Audie make a face like that before, that was _bananas_. What's the story there?"

Well, I already lied about it once, and I don't feel like bringing her reputation down any. "It's, uh... that's a pretty long speech there, I mean, I'd have to pull out a couple of books to explain it, give you a primer on linguistics, a bit of history-"

"Bullshit!" he laughs, pointing accusatorily. "It's just something you don't wanna say, isn't it? You've got nicknames for each other, and hers is about your _junk_. You can trust me, dude! Hell, I'll probably forget whatever you tell me tonight, you know that."

He's got a point there, but I'm still reluctant. He can think whatever he wants. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Harry."

"Uh, you're not a gentleman, dude. I fuckin' _know_  you."

I breathe a small sigh. Harry's been a good friend. Best I've ever had, really. I can trust him, can't I? "All right. After she decided to call me Candyman, I decided to call her Oyster."

He twists his face up, clearly unimpressed. "That's pretty lame, dude."

"Yeah, hold on, I'll _tell_ you why, I'm fucking driving right now! Cheese and rice. Okay, the reason is because, well, she... tastes kind of like an oyster."

Harry nods slowly, a smirk of understanding lifting the corners of his mouth. "Gross."

"I happen to _like_ oysters."

"You like her _too_ , huh?" he smarms, grinning maliciously. He begins to chant. "Reese and Audie sittin' in a van, melts in her mouth and not in her hand!"

"You know I can probably kick your ass, right?"

He stops chanting, but can't stop himself from laughing. "That's not real hard to do, man."


	37. A Modest Proposal

Evening. The fading sunlight of the day's end hardly reaches me, parked on a quiet north-south street in the shifty part of the shifty part of town. The hoods around here know better than to try to rob this van by now. As if the smell wasn't deterrent enough, the fact that it's mostly filled with books and old fishing gear tells them there's no score to be had, to say nothing of the half-mad idiot who lives within. Nobody wants to get caught looking down the business end of a fishing spear, especially when the wielder's got nothing to lose. And when you're living in a van, you've pretty obviously got nothing to lose.

I reach a paw up to rub my sore face. Ow... either I got in a fight or I fell down a bunch this morning. Why the hell did I drink so much? Oh, that's right. Life. I take a look at my situation. Lying on my stomach, positioned diagonally across my hammock, with my head and one shoulder hanging off the side over a small, cedar bucket. I squint, trying to distinguish its contents, but my nose tells me first. Obviously these were the contents of my stomach at the time I went to bed. That's awfully clever of myself, I think, as I try to ease out of my hammock without falling into the-

 _Fuck_. I may not have fallen into it, but I definitely just stepped in it. I don't even want to fucking look down there, I just need to find a towel or something. I find my glasses and begin to look for a rag, a towel, a dirty shirt... aha! My secret weapon, shower wipes! If you're ever stuck living like me - be it in a van, a pile of rocks, a hole in the ground, or even if your water's just out - take it from me, buy a pack of shower wipes. The larger size are a better deal if you can afford them. You can actually get a full bath out of one wipe with a little practice. Convenient as that is, I can't afford the big ones right now so I've just got some little ones that'll do fine for the basics: face, armpits, and crotch ( _in that order_ ), and one will do just fine for a foot covered in cold vomit.

With my feet nice and clean, my stomach makes himself apparent. 'Hey! Don't forget about me!' he says, speaking in his own, strange language of squeaks and warbles. Holy _shit_ am I hungry. Think I've got some dried cod around here somewhere... I'll just put a lid on that bucket for now, at least so I can't smell it. I'll have to dump that in some bushes or something. I reach into a worn cardboard box and pull out a piece of solidified fish matter wrapped in a plastic bag. I unwrap it and look it over, giving it a sniff to make sure it's not turned. I think I see little spot of mold on the side. Nothing that'll kill me, so I'll just brush that off, and good as new! Plain, dried fish isn't a very satisfying meal for the tongue, but it's leagues better than canned bug pate. I think I'd sooner go to the beach and collect _seaweed_ than have to survive on that again.

I wash my meager breakfast down with some bottled tap water I snagged from a public fountain. Tastes crappy, but I'm thirsty enough to look past that right now. I sit down and stare for a moment, collecting myself as my brain begins to build up a head of steam and start chugging. Another lousy evening of drinking too much, followed by a suitably lousy morning of achy joints and intestinal pain. Is this going to be another one of those fucking nights? Seriously? Nothing ever comes of them. I tell myself I'm going to stop drinking so much, that I'm going to eat better and exercise more, and I push myself through all the same motions and through all the pain that physical activity causes until I drag my sorry ass back to my van and go to a bar for a 'little reward' that turns into vomiting and a blackout.

Yes, I think to myself, powerless to stop the inevitable. Yes it is.

 

I take my time, backing slowly into a rare near-gym parking spot and sidle my way into the space. No meters out here. Perks of hanging around a residential neighborhood, I guess. Sometimes the occasional parking cretin will come through, looking to fill their quota, but it's only the middle of the month and they only get desperate in the final week or so. I hang my gym bag on my shoulder and hop out the back, double-checking that I've locked the door. Good to go. The sidewalk has a little traffic. A few larger predators on their way to work, I guess, and some long canid walking theiOH FUCK! I leap onto the side of the building and scramble up toward safety as some poorly-trained mutt of a monitor lizard lunges at me. Its owner can't pull herself from her cell phone to notice, the vapid fucking- I catch myself. That's almost too strong of a label just to  _think_ of someone as, much less speak out loud.

I sigh in relief as it follows its master away. I hate big lizards. The smaller ones like geckos and skinks don't bother me. Small lizards, most birds, hell, even most larger  _mammals_  at least startle when I puff up and scream, but monitors simply don't know _fear_. I climb down and shuffle my way into Packer's, making a conscious effort not to look at the donation box. I can't afford to give anything right now. I'll just concentrate on the fresh paint, the new floor, and how much I wish this place had a pool. God, I could really use a swim right now. It's been... holy shit, I actually can't remember. I'm an aquatic fucking mammal, and I _can't remember_ the last time I had a swim. I feel like I've had something precious stolen from me. I don't even notice that I've stopped in my tracks until someone nearly trips over me.

"Fucking _move_ , shrimp!"

I grit my teeth and adjust the strap on my shoulder. Maybe watch where _you're_ going, you giant waste of- I take a deep breath. Ignore the fucker. Keep walking. I make my way past the basketball court, past the mismatched weights, and to the section of floor reserved for whatever old, barely-serviceable machines have found their final home here. The rowing machine, thankfully, is free. I don't often see anyone on it. that makes me feel a little better about the way I tend to monopolize it, but there aren't many other machines I can get a good workout on. There aren't a whole lot of weights here for a mammal my size, my legs are too short for a cycle, and I'm for goddamn sure not using a treadmill for a couple reasons. I walked enough just to _get_ here. I got short, little legs.

But a rowing machine lets me work out most of my body. There's a little bit for my legs to do, a bit more for my arms, but a whole shitload for my back. That's most of my body, after all. I've got little legs, little arms, but all the rest of me is spine and chest. Most mustelids are, to be honest. We're long, slender, flexible, and _mean_. We're like Slinkies with pointy teeth and anger issues. _Especially_ anger issues. I've never met the weasel, stoat, ferret, polecat, marten, badger, wolverine, et cetera who didn't have a story about 'that one time I got really pissed off.' But that's a storied survival skill for fuckers our size. A lot of prey species have this monolithic view of predators, where we all worked together to eat them and got along otherwise, but that's bullshit. If there's a hungry lion or wolf nearby and no bunnies or sheep, what are they going to do? Pick fruit? Fuck no, they're gonna eat the mink! So mustelids got mean. Hell, there are _birds_ that eat mink and polecats, I'm really _not_ that high on the natural food chain. Those birds scare the fuck out of me, but if they tried to swoop on my ass, they better bring their A-game.

How long have I been letting my brain run free? How long have I been on this rowing machine? I'm almost afraid to check the time. Nearly an hour. _Fuck_ , I'm going to be sore. Low weight, high reps, isn't that something folks say? I've rowed for longer in a real boat. I was sore then, too. And I have to work tomorrow night. Fuck. I hop off the machine and head for the locker room, wishing - _really_ wishing this place had a pool. That'd be a good workout. Full-body, even! Better than rowing. Rowing's repetitive and narrow compared to swimming. I stop to look at one of the basins here. I could plug that and fill it up, I think, but I don't know how much it'd cost the place. I'd rather not put them in the red all by myself. Where else would I go to shower? Harry's? His place is a dump. I'll stick with Packer's.

 

I return, squeaky-clean and damp, to my little hovel on wheels. What the hell else was I gonna do today? Oh right, I was going to write. Or try to, anyway. I drop my gym bag and plop myself down in front of my shitty laptop, unfolding it before me and pressing the power button to wake it into existence. And pressing it again so it gets the message. And pressing it, and pressing it, and pressing it... Something's not right. I grab the cord and follow it under a pile of laundry, pulling it free and finding the wires severed. Angry, I throw clothes off the pile until I find the culprit: an old fishing spear, one I'd reached for just yesterday when I thought I'd heard some ruffians outside and stashed for easy withdrawal should they return.

FUCK! Goddamnit, I can't afford to replace that right now! And even if I could, I don't know the best place to buy one, or if they even _make_ the fuckers anymore! I throw the thin wire, ineffectually at best due to its negligible weight, and fall backward onto my ass to sulk. Why? Why does this kind of shit just keep happening? I should just burn it all and work in the fish shop until I get old and croak, falling face-first atop a frozen trout. Or sign onto a fishing boat and sail my life away until the day a cable breaks free and a hook knocks my goddamn head off. Fuck this, fuck writing, fuck everything!

No, you know what? I'll just write by paw. The story feels more real that way, the words can mingle with the sweat that drips off my brow and... what the fuck, I thought I had a pen here. I pull boxes open, I pull milk crates off each other, and I run myself almost ragged as I search for a pen that just isn't there. GODDAMNIT, how am I out of fucking pens? Has someone been taking them?! Fuck it! Day off, then! I'm just gonna lie around like a piece of shit and get dr-

No. No, I'm not gonna get drunk, I need to do less of that, remember? I won't be youthful and healthy forever, I need to make good use of my body while it's in mostly-working order. I'll... I'll... I sigh. There is not fuck-all to do in this goddamn van but sleep, write, drink, smoke, and jerk off. Smoke... there's an idea, I think to myself. It's not a good idea, but it _is_ an idea. I find my shoulder bag and dig deep for my pipe, finding it with ease. It's strange, now that I think about it, that this thing seems to have weaned me off of smoking a great deal. I think a lot of mammals use vaporizers for that, but fuck those things. I'm not _that_ big of a douche.

I settle into a comfortable pile of crap - a couple old blankets atop a bunched-up old fishing net - and take a deep breath. _Relax_ , I tell myself. After all, everyone has off-nights. What's the harm in taking a little time to yourself once in a while? Just sit down and put on a little music. Now _that's_ a good idea. I plug my phone into the cheap inverter that is my sole source of electricity and scroll through my playlists, looking for something nice. No... not that. Tonight's not really a metal night, more like... Peter Zebriel! Perfect. I pack a little nip into the bowl of my pipe and fumble for a match, taking a sensible puff before I start the music. I hold it for a moment and release, setting the pipe aside as I pres play to get the party started.

_Hi there!_

Almost as soon as I let myself relax, I jerk back upright again. 'Big Time' is a great song, don't get me wrong, but since coming here it's lost a lot of its shine. If I'd come here with a tape player in my pocket instead of a smartphone, I'd have needed a mixtape of just this song on repeat, and I would have worn that thing out in a week. This song was my fucking _anthem_ when I came here, but its over-the-top optimism has soured like milk into an unpalatable gruel that leaves me choking on my own bitter regret. _The place where I come from is a small town... they think so small, they use small words. But not me! I'm smarter than that! I've worked it out. I'll be stretching my mouth to let those BIIIG WORDS come right out!_ I can't stand it. Maybe someday I'll like it again, but I can't see that happening anytime soon. I skip the song.

 

Several songs in, and I'm finally relaxed. Or I think I am. I don't know if I've ever felt truly relaxed. How would someone know? Has anyone really been _truly_ relaxed? Don't they have things they should be doing?! I have a _lot_ of things I could be doing, and I'm not doing any of them. I could go do some now, but I'm high right now. They'd know. They'd all look at me and think, 'That fucking ginger weasel is high as a kite right now.' I'm not even a weasel. They can't tell that just from looking at me, but they can tell that I'm high. I think I'll stay in where I'm safe. Holy shit, I'm so nervous... can they smell this from outside? Holy shit, I'm in a predator neighborhood, they can probably smell me from a block away! Oh fuck, if the cops come out here I'm fucking toast! Do they come out here at this time of night? NO. I'm getting paranoid... it's the nip. It's just the nip, isn't it? Fuck, I need something to take the edge off. Maybe... yeah, yeah. Just _one_ drink. That's all I need.

Shit... I think I overdid it. No, that's impossible! There was so little left in that bottle. Then again, it was a bigger bottle than I'm used to. Did I optical-illusion myself? Fuck. FUCK. Maybe I'm just physically and mentally incapable of relaxing. A head full of nip and a belly full of booze can't calm me down? I'm still thinking of how I've screwed up, trying to nitpick myself incessantly! Goddamnit... what am I doing with my life? I should have known better. I always told myself I knew better than everyone else, that I was right and they were wrong, but what if I was just full of shit? What if they had a point after all? I'd be a sad sack of shit back home is what I'd be, but at least I'd be a sad sack of shit with a career and an income.

I think I should talk to someone. Or touch someone. I need a hug. Wait... yeah, that's it. That's it! Vixxxens is open, I'll go down there, have a drink, look at naked girls and then I'll pay one of them to put me on her lap and pet me, and hug me, and tell me everything's going to be just fine! It's like therapy but it's a lot cheaper, and it's a HELL of a lot more fun! I just need to grab my wallet and... oh fuck. I'm broke. Goddamnit... ah hell, they wouldn't let me in anyway, I smell like nip and cheap vodka. They'd turn me away at the door and give me a kick in the ass just for the trouble. Damnit.

...Or I could call somebody. I have  _friends._ What are friends for, after all, besides listening to the bullshit in your head? It's the oldest purpose of friendship. They unload their stupid fucking baggage onto you, and you unload your stupid fucking baggage onto them. Perfect. I scoop up my phone and kill the music, clumsily navigating my way to my contacts. A for Audie! Call. Ringing... ringing... ringing...

" _Hey, you've reached Audie. I can't answer my phone right now so leave a message after the duck._ " _QUACK_

I groan and hang up. Wait... I could have left a message. Damnit. If I call back to leave one now, though, she'll think it's something important, and it's not something important, it's just me being a melodramatic fucking idiot, and she's probably busy or something. Shit. I scroll down- well, I look farther down, the name's right there, I don't actually need to scroll anything. Billie! I'll just... you know, I think I'll leave that one alone. Billie's fun sometimes, but I'm not betting on her being receptive to my kind of bullshit. I'll try Chet instead.

" _This is Chet. I'm unavailable, sorry. Let me know why you're calling and I'll get back to you as soon as I can_." _Beep_

Damnit. Wait, did I forget to leave a message again? Fucking voicemail! Who even checks that crap? Everyone just looks at who called and then calls them back directly, nobody gives a fuck about the message. It's a pointless service, we can see whose calls we missed. I'll try to call Harry, he's usually-

 

_HOOOOOONK_

WHAT THE FUCK! Goddamnit, who the hell is- why can't I hold onto this fucking phone?! I catch my phone, having nearly juggled the goddamn thing for five seconds, and squint at the brightness as I try to... wait, when did I take my fucking glasses off? Goddamnit, there's no time! I press the green smudge that must mean accept, and hold the phone to my head. "Hello?!"

"Hey, dude, sorry I missed you earlier, we got swamped here. What's up?" It's Audie. Was I going to say something? Fuck, I can't remember... I can't remember! "...Are you there?"

"YEAH, yeah, I'm... I'm here. I just, uh... I forgot why I..." I trail off, stuck in a loop of remembering that goes nowhere.

"Okay. Think you can come up with something? My break doesn't last _forever_ , you know." She knows I'm stoned. She heard it in my voice, I know it. Wait, didn't I drink the paranoia away? No, ha ha ha! The paranoia cannot be drunk away! Shut up, voice in my head, I wasn't talking to you!

"Yeah, yeah, uh, I was just..." think of something reasonable, like someone would call a friend about, but not something that might put you on suicide watch. Don't need to worry her. "I was just a little... lonely, I guess." The best you could come up with is lonely? What about isolated or forlorn? Words are your thing, you fucking idiot! God forbid you should tell someone you're feeling morose, dolorous, woebegone, singing the blues, dispirit-

"...Uh huh?" Thankfully, she interrupts my self-deprecation. "Well first off, I'm at work for a few more hours, so if you're fishing for some kind of booty call-"

My turn to interrupt. "NO, no, it's nothing like that, it's..." Are you going to tell her what's going around in your head? Are you going to open up to someone and maybe try to put a little _work_ into yourself for once? Or are you just going to grab the first thread of emotion and run with it like a panicked fucking rodent? "I think we should..." Oh for fuck's sake, you're doing something stupid, aren't you? "Do you want to be my ex?" Wait. What? How fucking much did you smoke?

I can almost hear her eyebrows fly off her forehead. "Do I... huh? Have you been smoking all night or something?" Oh fuck, _she knows_.

"WAIT, LISTEN. I... look, I like you, Audie, in a way, kinda, and I think..."

"Oh shit, this is gonna be good." If she'd sounded tired when she said that, I know enough to apologize and hang up the phone, but I've heard her say that same phrase the exact same way when stories are being told.

"Okay... okay, hear me out." Always a good way to start something. "I like you, I mean _like you_ like you, a bit, but right now you're a lot more of a friend to me and I think that's not something I'm willing to put at risk. So what I mean is, will you be my ex, not because I think we should go out and you eventually see what I am inside and we end up viciously hating each other, but because I think it'd just be a lot easier for everyone involved if we just break it off now while it's still amicable. We can still be friends, we can hang out and actually enjoy each other's company, and if one of us is at a low point it leaves the door open to the occasional hookup, or maybe even in a few years we'll both be tired enough that we're willing to settle for one another. Is any of this making sense?"

Silence on the other end of the line. "Dude, _none_ of that makes any fucking sense," she laughs, but at least she's laughing, I think to myself. "I need to know what the fuck you're on because it sounds fucking wild. But as to the other thing, I guess fuck it, why not? I've heard weirder pickup lines. But there's something you'll have to do first."

Shit. There's a catch. I should have known to write this out beforehand, but... I haven't got a pen. "Okay. What's that?"

"Well if I'm gonna be your ex-girlfriend, you owe me a dinner or something, right?"

"I think you've got the chronology mixed up."

"I think you've got the _concept_ mixed up."

"Fair enough, go on."

"Whenever we're both free, we can go grab coffee or a sandwich or something, and I guess we can try to figure out how the fuck anything you just said is even going to work, because that is the weirdest fucking logic I've ever heard, and it creeps me out just a little bit that it almost makes some kind of sense. _Almost_."

"Uh, okay... I'm kinda off my fucking shit right now, so I can't be trusted to set a reminder for myself, you think you could call me when I'm sober?"

"...You're the goddamn weirdest, dude. Yeah, I'll call you back in a while, you fucking doofus."


	38. Juice That Makes You Explode

"So... yeah." I scratch my head, pulling the mic away from my face to take a breath. "All right, you know what? Dirty shit. Why not? We're all adults here, at least in the eyes of the law. Let's talk about some dirty shit. Anyone ever get lucky in a bar? I don't mean in the bar, I mean... you fucking know what I mean." Surprisingly, Gary has me opening for Harry again. I thought I'd blown it after last time, but he'd probably let me come on stage and eat babies if the crowd enjoyed it. He's a businessman, not the morality squad. "I've had the opportunity a few times after my shows to go home with some very nice, albeit very desperate ladies. I don't sugarcoat these things, I know who and what I am, they were desperate and they were lonely enough that I came off as funny to them."

I take a sip of my wine and consider my next statement. I've thought this through before, but I was never really satisfied or comfortable with this part. "Some months ago, I went home with... a cougar. Not in the literal sense, but she was a jaguar, so your mental image... fuck, moving on. I was the cub to this cougar for that bright, blessed morning, and while I don't _regret_ it, let me just say... be careful, folks." I've been too shy to test this story in front of anyone but Harry. Unfortunately for me Chet's in the audience recording this, as he's started doing for the lot of us when we're on stage, because that's a big part of his plan for his ZooTube channel. Besides the sketches, the humorous informative videos he hopes to put up, and the random bullshit videos that usually involve me getting stuck in things or used as a puppet, he wants clips of our standup on there as well.

"Audience participation time. Raise your paw if you've ever been with someone much larger than yourself." I blink, pulling my head back in exaggerated surprise as only a few paws flutter skyward. "Holy shit. Really? In _this_ fucking town? You fuckers need to broaden your horizons, there's more to life than plain toast and the missionary position. Anyway, maybe you few can confirm this to your friends, but if you're with a larger woman... things get a little tricky. Obviously your standard equipment package is not going to get the job done by itself, but that's never been my strong suit anyway. I'm a diver, and I went down on this nice lady just the same. But I hadn't realized that a bigger woman comes with a bigger... ahem. Let's just say that wet floors are a common workplace hazard, you know? So to beat around the bush a little bit - which is, as I said before, my specialty," I wink to the crowd, eliciting a bit of laughter. "I was doing my best when all of a sudden I lost my footing, and wouldn't you know it, I fell right in."

I wait a moment for the laughter and the shrieks to die down a bit, proud of how well this bit is going down. (Heh... pun.) "That wasn't the bad part, though! I mean, I got laid, so it's hard for me to really call any of it bad, but I'll just say... the _least-good_ part came next. I was about to pull my head out, when all of a sudden I feel her paw just clamp down around me and really start..." I trail off, looking at my paws as I consider pantomiming the act. That probably wouldn't be a good look. "Okay. So, I'm really flexible. You can probably tell that from how I'm built. I'm like a furry snake with feet. But I was so surprised by this that I stiffened up, which apparently she thought was a tacit endorsement of her action, and if I weren't so good at holding my breath I would not be on this stage right now." I shrug as a roar of laughter erupts from the crowd, taking a small bow and lifting the microphone once again to my face. "Folks, that's my time, I hope you enjoy the comedian you came and paid money to see tonight, here he is, Harry Tuttle!"

 

Oh fuck. I knew I shouldn't have hung around with those reprobates after the show... the last thing I remember is Norm pulling out a bunch of Four Lobos and me asking "Didn't they ban those?" The answer is yes. As for where he got them, he wouldn't say. Probably wise, since they're banned, but if he were going to be really wise he could have not fucking bought the fucking things! All I know is that I'm awake now except I feel like I might be dead. If this is how zombies feel, I know why they're always moaning. I should probably see how bad things are; how much I threw up, what I threw up, what I threw up on, that sort of thing. I push myself to a seated position and wait why the fuck am I naked? _Again?!_

I squint, looking around for my glasses. Weird... I was sleeping on dirt? Oh fuck, I'm naked and outside? Holy fuck, I could get arrested for this! I better not be in a park, or I'm fucking screwed! Oh shit, I think I see my clothes. Oh thank goodness, I thought I was gonna end up on a list or somethAAAAAAAAAAAAGH IT'S A BIRD! WHAT THE FUCK, IT'S A TORN-UP BIRD AND I'M COVERED IN BLOOD, WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?! My screams of horror are interrupted by a stifled laugh from behind me. Oh shit, this is it, I've been found naked in public with a dead animal, and I'm an immigrant. I'm gonna be Flocks News fodder for a fucking _year!_ 'Immigrants are coming here and killing all the birds! YOU COULD BE NEXT!' My life is ov-

Wait. If I'm covered in blood why don't I smell like it? This... this is ketchup. _This is fucking ketchup_. I crawl over to the bird and touch it, hesitantly, my mood souring even further as I realize it's a goddamn plushie. "What the fuck... what the fuck is WRONG with you assholes?!" As soon as I ask that, a roar of laughter erupts behind me. I turn to face their general direction and begin screaming curses, hunched over to cover my undercarriage with my paws. "YOU FUCKING BASTARDS! DO YOU THINK THIS IS FUCKING FUNNY? DO YOU KNOW HOW TERRIFIED I'VE BEEN OF LOSING MY SHIT LIKE THAT?!"

Chet approaches me - at least I think it's Chet - and tries to calm me down. "Relax, man! It's just a joke, we wouldn't have left you behind like that, even if you _did_ go crazy. Don't you remember the time with the mushrooms?" Yeah, that's Chet all right. It's hard to see features, but I can tell from his voice and silhouette that... is that his fucking camera?!

"I'll show you CRAZY! EEEAAAAAAAAGH!" I scream, leaping onto his chest and climbing up to sock him right in the eye. "TRY LOOKING THROUGH THAT FUCKING CAMERA NOW, ASSHOLE!" My clever one-liner falls flat since the camera has a viewscreen. Nevertheless, it sounds like Norm and Harry got a good kick out of it. "You assholes better get me my pants and my glasses or YOU'RE NEXT!" I snarl, jumping off Chet and facing the source of the laughter. Well that shut 'em up. Maybe they get the picture.

I place my glasses upon my snout, looking down at myself. This shit better wash out easy. If I end up smelling like tomatoes and vinegar all night, I'm gonna chew somebody's ear off. "You guys are fucking dicks."

Harry tosses me my pants, stifling a laugh. "Man, you'll get over it. Wouldn't you do the same if one of us passed out? What are friends for, right?"

I sigh as I button my fly. "Okay, maybe I overreacted a little, and there's no way you guys could have known but I've had fucking nightmares about going savage like that. Haven't you?! I mean, it wasn't that fucking long ago!"

Norm throws the stuffed bird in the trash and pours a glass of water into the potted plant I woke up in. ...That thing's fucking huge. Did he _carry_ it in here? "Mammal, we all got shit like that, you just gotta deal with it yo' own way. Unless that way is punchin' Chet in the face."

I look over to Chet, who's still smiling despite the ice pack he's holding over his eye. "...Yeah, well, he fucking earned that."

Chet holds his camera up, grinning widely. "Fuckin' worth it." I need to wipe that fucking camera before he posts this shit.

 

Our informal breakfast of leftover snacks and whatever's in Norm's fridge ends abruptly as Billie opens the door. "All right, quit jerking each other and put your pants on, we haven't got a lot of time!" Huh. She actually seems like she's in a decent mood tonight. Before I can wonder why that is, Audie prances in wearing a fucking clown getup. Norm just about squeals.

"Oh shit, that's so fuckin' cute! Did you put that together yourself?"

Audie, completely embracing her current outfit, throws a pawful of glitter over herself. "Yep! It's a shame I couldn't make a living doing this, it's really fun."

"Why couldn't you make a living as a clown? You'd be fucking great at it," Harry asks, stuffing more barbecue Beetle Bites into his mouth.

"Because I can't stand kids!" is Audie's reply. She punctuates her statement by blowing into a noisemaker, the kind with the flappy, springy paper tube that... whatever the fuck that thing is. I didn't know they still made the goddamn things.

Billie marches over to me and reaches into a bag. "Here, got something for you, too."

Not on your fucking life, I think. "If there's a clown suit in that bag, I'm going to fly off this table and eat your face." Yes, I'm sitting on the table, what did you expect? Norm's chairs are sized for him, not for me. Even his nephew's booster seat is still too low, not to mention it smells like diapers and ass. "I'm not wearing a clown costume."

She snorts derisively. "It's not a clown suit, dick, it's a labcoat. We're doing the clown gyno sketch."

Chet looks up from his laptop. "Wait. Clown gyno sketch? I thought it was gonna be a gynecologist who's a magician."

Billie shrugs. "Yeah, but Audie came up with some better ideas, and we're going with those."

Chet sighs. "All right. At least you got the costumes yourself. Just let me know next time, all right?"

I pull off my glasses and rub my brow. "Was any of you gonna tell me we were filming shit tonight? Or was I supposed to just assume it since I woke up with Chet taking video of my dick?" Billie and Audie glance at each other. " _Fuck no_ you're not seeing that video. I'll poke your eyes out if I have to."

Begin scene. As close as we could manage to a gynecologist's office, using a green bedsheet as a backdrop and kitchen utensils as medical equipment. A clown is lying on ~~a cardboard box~~ an examination seat, her feet held up by rubber bands wrapped around chopsticks. The doctor walks in, carrying a clipboard.

"Sorry for the delay, Ms. Chuckles, I got caught under a mountain of-" I pause as the doctor realizes his patient is a clown, complete with getup, smiling widely and waving to me as her skirt covers her naughty business. "...Mountain of paperwork. Uh, what are... is today a holiday or something? Someone's birthday?"

"Nope!" she answers, happy as can be. I, the doctor, lean in and tilt my head expectantly, but no further explanation is offered.

"Well. I see you're in for just a routine check, is that correct? Have you been having any issues lately? Discomfort, difficult or painful urination, or-"

"Nope." She shakes her head comically. "Mama always told me, she'd say, 'You keep yourself clean down there, missy, or _urine_ trouble!'" She snorts in laughter at her own joke and honks a horn.

"...Well, that's good advice." I'm not accustomed to this sort of role with this group. I'm not the straight man, except when Harry and I practice our vaudeville bit. It's a pretty refreshing change, actually; I'm really not that goofy of a guy. I studied _drama_ , for crying out loud. How the hell did I stumble into comedy? In any case, I really can't complain about this role. There's good reason behind it. I'm the best at keeping a straight face, and no mammal would go to a doctor outside their size category. It just doesn't make sense. If you're thinking I agreed to this bit just so I could stare up Audie's skirt, you're wrong, shut up, and I hate your guts. I'm a goddamn _professional_ , you pervert.

The camera angle switches to a side-shot, and Chet gives the signal to continue. I clear my throat and lift her skirt up, seeing that she's wearing shorts underneath. That's good. That's very good, because it's less distracting. Yeah, I'm a professional, but I'm still a mammal. Let's see _you_ pull something like this off and not forget a line! "All right, let's see what we can... hang on. What's this?" I ask, reaching in - not touching her at all, but the camera can't tell - and tugging on a piece of cloth. I pull, drawing out a string of silk handkerchiefs, a classic visual gag that pleases to this day.

Audie laughs and claps. "WOOO! Gee, doc, you ever get freaky with those magic paws of yours? Cuz if you do, I'm free on Friday!"

I swallow, looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, that's... highly inappropriate," I stammer, dropping the end of the string. "I'm your _doctor_ , Ms. Chuckles. These checkups are important, do you think you could be just a little more serious?"

Closeup on the patient. She squeezes a drop of blue facepaint onto a finger and puts a tear under one eye, pouting. "Okay, I promise..."

Camera on the doctor. I rise from my improvised doctor's stool and retrieve a tool, coming back and sitting down. I make a surprised face and reach down, pulling a whoopie cushion from below the frame. Sound will be edited in. "How did you... you know what, nevermind. Let's just get this over with."

Camera from the side again. "You know, you're pretty cute for a doctor. Most of them are old guys or women, and they don't really do anything for me, but I wouldn't mind if this checkup included a check-out!" she giggles, eliciting a tired sigh from her healthcare specialist.

"Miss... please. Try to show a little restraint."

"Aww, come on. Are you into squirters?"

"Miss Chuckles!" I shout, clearly getting flustered. "Put that seltzer bottle away and stop clowning around!"

"I know! I bet you're into creampies!"

The camera switches to the patient's point of view, as a cream pie flies comically (and apparently) out of her crotch and directly into the doctor's face. End of video.

 

I sigh as I dry my head and face, annoyed that so much whipped cream got into my nose. I thought I'd have a second to look confused before the pie came at me, but apparently fucking not! I grab a tissue and blow my nose yet again as I leave Norm's bathroom. Audie cleaned off her clown paint in the kitchen, I guess, but she's still wearing the clown dress - it is kind of cute, in a strange sort of 'she's obviously insane, but she's probably kinda fun' way. She seems to be shouting at Billie, half-upset and half-laughing. I don't think I've seen her without a smile except for two, maybe three occasions.

"You thunder-stealing _bitch!_ How could you!" she cries, smiling despite herself and only half-playfully throwing some clown accessories at the dingo's face.

Billie is laughing as well, but it's more of a threatening laugh. The kind of laugh that is laughed only by a laugher who's just screwed you over, and they know you've laughed your last laugh. I pause and take a moment to wonder if I just had a stroke or something. No... hangover aside, I feel pretty normal. I should probably keep an eye out, though. I shuffle over to the living-room area of the apartment and straighten my glasses, looking up to my comrades in stupidity. "Okay. What'd I miss?" Billie holds her phone out towards me, well above my reach, and I listen to the audio she's playing. " _...enjoy each other's company, and if one of us is at a low point it leaves the door open to the occasional hookup, or maybe even..._ " Wait, that's my voice. When did I ever say... OH GOD, NO

I lose my mind almost immediately, leaping repeatedly in an attempt to destroy the offending digital device. "YOU GIVE ME THAT FUCKING PHONE!" Everyone - but especially Billie - loses their shit and nearly falls about themselves laughing. Not willing to let her possess this recording, much less share it ever again, I make a dive for Billie's lap and lunge for her face. Chet's quick, though, and despite my panicked aggression he catches me in a single paw and holds me up, wriggling and snarling, safely separated from my target.

"Woah, dude! Relax! Everything's cool, just calm down. Ya fuckin' barbarian." Chet's smile falters as it slowly becomes apparent I'm actually serious. "Hey... hey Reese, come on, man, it's not that big a deal."

Harry, knowing me the best, already understood this. He runs into the kitchen and returns with a small, pull-top can. "Billie, put your fucking phone away! Reese, dude, I got you some tuna. Calm down." I realize suddenly just how far off the handle I've flown and feel a wave of shame and sickness wash over me. Absorbed as I am in my fog of self-awareness, I don't even notice as Chet sets me on the floor and Harry pushes the open can of tuna into my paws. "Okay. That was pretty ugly there for a second, you okay, bro?"

I shake my head and set the can on the table, turning to the door. "No... I'm sorry, guys, I just... look, just delete that off your phone, okay? I'm gonna go cool down."

The five of them watch quietly as I exit, the lot of them caught in a strange place somewhere between medium confusion and that compulsion that drives one to stare at car accidents. Billie shrugs and pushes Audie toward the door with a foot. "Eh... whatever. Go kiss his booboo or something, see if that does it."

Audie snorts, tossing a rude gesture Billie's way for good measure as she jogs to the door to follow me out. Harry starts eating the tuna, because no decent fish should go to waste.

 

Audie catches up to me just outside the building and stops me, catching her breath. "Dude, wait up! Oh shit... hang on a second. Oof... I should get on a treadmill more often, I think. Hey, what's going on? Are you all right?"

I sigh, looking away to think my response over. "I'll be fine, if that answers your question. You can tell Billie I'm sorry for wanting to bite her head off, but sometimes she just asks for it, you know?"

She rolls her eyes. "Uh, yeah, I _live_ with the bitch, you think I don't know that? Look, why don't you come back in, we can watch tv and smoke. Doesn't that sound fun?"

"Not really, no," I reply quickly, offering a slight shake of my head. "I kind of want some quiet right now. And I'm a little pissed with you too, not just because you recorded that, but because you _shared_ it. The rest of those assholes put up enough videos of me without my sober consent and it's getting a little old."

She heaves a sigh. "Yeah, no, I should have told her not to share that, and I should have at least waited so she could hear it from my phone instead of sending her the file... or as you're probably about to say, I could have not recorded it or sent it, but seriously, dude, I could make a ten-minute bit out of just that phone call. Can you blame me?" She pauses, staring me right in my deadpan face. She shrugs. "Yeah, I guess you can. But I'll make sure she deletes that and I'll only do that bit once you've okayed it, how's that?"

I shrug. "It's fine... but do make her delete that, or I'm gonna smash her fucking phone. Don't think I won't." I look up at the sky, that dark, blank dome with only two or three stars left in it thanks to the city's lights. Goddamn do I hate this city. "I just felt like... I felt like I was back in school, up there, with everyone laughing at me like that. I just fucking snapped. I mean, the hangover's not helping my mood any and I'm aware I have anger issues, let's not pretend it's not as much my fault to begin with. I just don't deal well with shit, but you know that by now."

"Hey..." she prods, tilting her head coyly. "You just need to relax. You know what my dad would do when he'd had enough of us kids and my mom was being a pain in his ass? He'd go fishing, and he'd come back and not want to smother us all with a pillow. I know that van of yours is loaded with fishing shit, why don't we do that or something?"

I look up at her and shrug. "Yeah... all right, why the fuck not."

I drive us to Otterdam, one of the nicer parts of the city in my opinion. More likely to find some facilities closer to my size around here, the buildings are nice, and the canals are clean and pretty. They're also full of trout, or so I've been told, and I'm gonna get me some. It's quiet out here - but that's to be expected at this time of night. This part of town isn't as otter-heavy as it may have been in the past, but even those otters who live here have adopted a diurnal lifestyle like the herbivores who moved in around them. I wonder about otters, sometimes. They're pretty well-represented in media compared to other mustelids, and they're not usually stereotyped like the rest of us predators, but I think that might just be a Zootopia thing. Every society has its model minority, after all. All just so they can put one species on a pedestal and pat themselves on the back about how inclusive they are.

Audie watches _very helpfully_ as I drag a few long poles out of my van, kicking an old tacklebox in front of me. "Cheese and crackers, are you trying to make an income off this? Three poles?"

"Hey, I don't fish casual. I aim to catch something. That's the _point_ ," I explain, resting the poles on my shoulder and lifting the box in my free paw. "I think that bridge over there looks good. I'm not real experienced with freshwater fishing, but I have a feeling." She follows and observes as I prepare and bait each pole, casting each in turn and tying the first two to the safety rail so I can't lose them. "I hope they bite at night... do you know anything about trout?"

She blinks, arms crossed as she watches patiently. "Uh, they're good with lemon? I dunno, dude, that's _dad's_ quiet time. He didn't really bring me along, I was the loudest kid and I'd have scared the fish away."

I look her in the eye and blink slowly, pulling my third rod back to cast. "Oh... well that makes me feel so much better to have you here," I chuckle dryly, and she laughs in return. I cast my hook and watch through the railing, shifting my attention from one bobber to the next at a regular pace. Come on, you tasty little idiots, bite... you know you want to. I continue watching for ten minutes, maybe more, occasionally replying to Audie or remarking (but mostly griping) about various things in my life. This is actually kind of nice out here, mostly alone, where it's quiet. No, scratch that. It's solidly  _pretty_ nice. Given my experiences in this town, though, I shouldn't be surprised as a cop shows up and clears his throat right fucking behind me.

"Good evening sir, ma'am. Think you might want to tell me what you're doing over here?" he asks, appearing from fucking _nowhere_ and without a sound until now.

I jerk around, nearly dropping my pole. Oh shit. _Shit_. I don't need this right now, oh please oh please oh please you sonofabitch just leave us alone. I stare at the officer in shocked silence, grasping for something - anything - that might get me out of this. Should I make him laugh? Think of something funny. ...Nothing. Fuck. Panic! Wait, don't panic. Just pretend you don't speak the language! It's foolproof. No otter knows Lundisk. I clear my throat. "ᚢᛙᛌᚴᛁᛚᛐᛆ, ᛁᚴ ᛌᚴᛁᛚᛁ ᛁᚴᛁ." I glance to Audie and shrug, giving her a pointed look. She seems to get it, at least I hope so, because she nods and looks to the officer.

"Uhh, flergidy gergen, hinga dergen. Bergidy gergidy bork?" she... asks? I'm kind of assuming from the tone, but I'm a little too busy trying to poker-face through that. She's gonna get us thrown in a cell.

The officer rattles his head in confusion, giving Audie an intent once-over. He's probably trying to figure out how much of what kind of drug she's on. He pulls out a pad and looks back to me, addressing me in another FUCKING LANGUAGE. "Kan du forstå meg nå? Fiske er forbudt i kanalene, jeg trenger navnet ditt."

FUCK, HE KNOWS NORSK. He probably caught about half of what I said, and he knows I _had_ to understand that. I sigh. "Fine, goddamnit, you caught me. Of all the cops in this city, I have to get the only one who speaks another language..."


	39. Crime and FUNishment

I sigh, rubbing my temple as I listen to the sound of hooves approach down a long hallway. I'm groggy, lightheaded... my paws and feet feel heavy, but I feel more well-rested than I have in weeks, maybe even months. I didn't need all of that information to know I'd been hit with a tranquilizer dart, though; my sore asscheek is evidence enough of that fact. I don't know what I did today, but I'm piecing it together slowly. I was either stoned or drunk, which helps explain why I can't remember anything, and also explains the tiled floor with a drain in the middle. I know I was with Harry, Chet, and Norm, because they're locked in here with me. And I know they convinced me to do something fucking stupid because I'm wearing a stupid, googly-eyed lizard costume. All of this adds up and tells me one thing: I am not talking to these assholes tonight.

Harry's the next to wake up after me. He's the second-smallest in here, probably needed two darts to go down, doesn't metabolize stuff as fast as I do. Pokes his head up and looks around, mouthing a silent curse as he realizes what I have. His eyes find mine, and I turn my sight back to the door, arms crossed. "Awwww maaaan, what the fuck, did they tranq us? Goddamnit... how you holdin' up, dude?"

I adjust my position, slouching slightly on the bench. My mouth remains closed and my eyes stay fixed on the door. He sighs. "All right, well, I guess you're pissed off or something. Not like you're alone in here, though, you just being a prima donna again?" I give him a quick sneer, confirming his suspicion. I'm _not_ a prima donna. Compared to these fuckers, sure, but I've seen the real thing, and it's shocking. I'm just an asshole with an intermittent ego problem.

A small donkey in a well-fitting suit appears before us - that is, walks up on the other side of the bars. He didn't just poof in like the devil or something, that'd be weird. He's flanked by a pair of officers, a horse and a deer. Great... all prey around here, I'm sure we'll be treated very fairly. The donkey clears his throat and greets us. "Good evening. Sleep well?" My sneer develops into a full-on scowl at that. This motherfucker thinks he's funny, does he? "Officer, please open the door. You, there," he adds, pointing to Harry, "can you wake the other two in there? I hope we can make this as brief as possible."

Harry looks at Chet and Norm, who are almost scarily asleep. They're not twitching or anything, and if you couldn't hear them softly snoring you'd be certain they were dead. "Uh, hey guys, think you can wake up?" he mumbles, poking each of them. He looks to the donkey. "Dude, they're _out_. You might be waiting a while." The donkey's expression twists in frustration, and he checks his watch.

You know, I actually think I agree with the donkey on this. I want to keep this short, too. If I have to hop down off this bench, shuffle over to Norm, and bite one of his fingers, I'm absolutely going to.

"Ow... Ow. OW. OW!" Norm cries, slowly coming into consciousness. As hazy as he is right now, he's together enough to catch me before I wake Chet in the same manner. "Mammal, the _hell_ is wrong with you? Bite a man when he's sleepin'... aw shit, where are we? Chet. Hey, Chet, wake up before Reese bites your goddamn paw off," he gripes, shaking the puma awake.

"H... wha? I'm up, what's goin' on."

The donkey clears his throat again. Does this guy need a lozenge or something? "Is everyone awake now? Good. Please come out of the cell and follow me, I promise this will be short." The four of us follow him at varying degrees of consciousness as he leads us from the cell, through the block, out into the presentable part of the station, and finally into a well-lit room with a long table and comfortable chairs. This isn't an interrogation room, I think. But I've never been interrogated, I've just seen the same crime and courtroom dramas as anyone else; those rooms are small, dimly-lit, with mirrored glass on one wall and an oppressive feel. This is a nice meeting room with paneled walls and a coffee maker. Something's going on here.

 

We take our seats at the donkey's direction and he sits across from us, setting a briefcase on the table. "All righty. I'm sure you're pretty confused about this," he begins, waving a hoof in the air and gesturing at the room itself, "but we know an opportunity when we see one. I'll cut to the chase. My name is William Onderdonk, I'm an assistant to the District Attorney, and you four have gotten yourselves into a fair amount of trouble." He pulls some papers from the briefcase and begins reading things aloud. "Public intoxication, disorderly conduct, interfering with traffic, public endangerment, unauthorized entry into Little Rodentia, and unlawful possession of wildlife." I'd wondered why there were feathers on me. William looks up from his papers and continues to speak. "And those are just the charges we know would _stick_ ," he chuckles, setting them aside.

Chet raises a paw. "Okay, uh, look, I know- I know we screwed up, and the, uh... 'intoxication' doesn't excuse that, but we've all got pretty clean records. There isn't any way you could, like, slap us on the wrists, wag a finger at us and shoo us away with a warning, is there?"

William listens and regards this question for a moment, as if entertaining the thought. "As far as criminal records go, most of you do have pretty clean records. One of you has a little bit of a rap sheet - nothing especially egregious, so not to worry - but let's not worry about that, shall we?" Oh thank fuck. I don't need to go down for poaching a pigeon or trying to fish in Otterdam. They're victimless crimes, who the hell got hurt? Nobody, that's who! ...Shut up. _Pigeons don't count_.

The lawyer begins to speak again, trying to sound friendly. But city lawyers don't sound friendly when they've just lead you out of a jail cell. Certainly not ones who work as prosecutors. They just sound like you're fucked and they know it, but if you cooperate they'll at least put some lube on their dick before they shove it up your ass. "Given what you guys do, the DA's office has come up with a little scheme that I think you may like. You can call it public service if you like, but there'll be no sentencing, no trial, no fines... in fact, it's been suggested that this whole thing may not even make it onto any record." Oh, well that doesn't sound shifty at all.

"What's the catch?" I ask, cautious not to be swayed by his honeyed words. "I'm not running stings for the ZPD, I heard what happened to the _last_ guy." It was all over the news. It was brutal. Guy about my size tried working with the cops to get out of a sentence he had coming his way. Wore a wire for them. They sent him in to pose as a buyer, trying to get evidence for some investigation into a citywide construction worker speed ring, but he got found out. Goddamn beaver bit him in half.

He raises his hooves in a half-shrug. "There's no catch to it at all. You just have to make some videos just for us - we won't tell you how to do what you do, but we _will_ have the final say when it comes to publication - and the whole bunch of you won't have to worry about anything in this pile of papers coming back to bite you in the flank," he says smoothly, patting the stack of charges. "Mind you, we're talking _citywide broadcast_. Not to sound insulting, but you'd have to be complete idiots to turn something like this down."

We stare silently back at him, our addled minds trying to comprehend anything at all of what's happening. "But... why?" Chet asks, scratching his neck lazily. "Why this deal, and why us?"

William smiles and shrugs, clasping his hooves behind his back. "The way it was explained to me is that there's been a perceived rise in 'uncivil behavior' - I say _perceived_ , because no matter how Flocks News tries to spin it, there simply is no 'bird-slaying epidemic' - and City Hall's been thinking of a nice, palatable way to come out and encourage folks to be mindful of these sort of things. You know, things like littering, jaywalking, fishing in restricted areas..." I saw that. He looked at me when he said that, I fucking saw that. "Basic things. Fun, little spots to throw on TV between commercials. They - sorry, _we_ feel comedy would be a good way to go with it, and after the whole Bellwether affair, they..." He pauses and adjusts his coat before shoving his hooves in his pockets. "For _obvious_ reasons they think some good public predator representation would be nice, kind of quell some fears, ease some tension."

Chet sighs, rubbing his head. "Well, yeah, of course we'll do it. Like you said, we'd have to be fucking idiots - uh, sorry about-"

William shakes his head. "I've heard worse."

Chet nods. "Right. Uh, yeah, of course we'll do it."

William smiles and sets his stack of papers back in his briefcase. "Very good. I've got some cards in here, some sheets with contact information for a few folks you'll want to get in touch with..."

 

Cheese and rice, why is it so fucking bright outside?! Couldn't they have tranqued us a little harder so we'd wake up at a decent hour and the sun wasn't up? They fucking planned it this way just to be assholes. At least the buses are running frequently at this hour. Don't get me started on bus schedules, that's just another way they try to keep us 'nightcrawlers' down... sure, there aren't as many riders at night, but they run most routes every fifteen minutes when the sun's up. With all the fares they collect, they can run them more frequently at night. It's a fucking public service! They don't have to worry about profit margins, goddamnit!

The four of us take a seat near the back, so we don't disturb the few other passengers with our half-cocked brainstorming. "All right, guys. We've probably got a few hours until Billie or Audie wake up, do you want to try to figure some of this out now or wait?" Chet asks, yawning.

Harry shrugs. "All the same to me, man." Norm sniffs and shrugs, clearly still drowsy. Big sonofabitch is probably still fighting the tranqs.

I rub my face. "Is burning down city hall an option? We can film it and say 'don't do this,' that's a good message."

Chet stifles a snort. "We'll keep that in mind. What're some other ad campaigns we've seen? I guess we could start there, try to think of what worked for them, think about whether it'd work for us. Because that's basically what this is, except we're not really selling anything."

Harry stares at the ceiling and flutters his lips. "Well... we gotta have a catchphrase. 'Don't be a dick' probably won't work, but that's the gist of this whole thing, isn't it? Tellin' folks not to be assholes?"

"Yeah, he said they want civic behaviors or something. 'Don't be a dick' probably won't fly on TV, you're right about that. What have we got besides dick? Any other lines besides don't be a blank?"

Harry chimes in again. "Maybe something that rhymes. 'Keep our city pretty?' Nah, that kinda sucks," he groans, frowning. "He was kinda vague in there, wasn't he. Probably coulda told us more about what they really wanted."

I bark a single, sarcastic laugh. "Why bother narrowing it down? They'd probably have to send it through seven subcommitees and some fucker's brother-in-law's consulting firm just to figure out what they want. The government in this city is a fucking joke, it's easier just to dump it on useful idiots like us and watch us twist in the wind. Then after we can't come up with just what they wanted, they'll come grab us for not holding up our end, and they get a public relations victory for both offering alternative programs to criminals and being tough on crime all at once."

Chet sighs. "Yeah, that could be the case, or you could just be an angry little shit when you're tired, Reese. Just don't go biting Norm again." I scowl, crossing my arms. I'll bite who I want, when I want, _how_ I want.

Norm cracks his eyes open and turns his head lazily to face Chet. "My mama always told me growin' up... 'you little assholes are behavin' like _beasts_.' She also said stuff like 'shut up or I'mma put my foot up yo' ass,' but that was when we was bein' real bad. What'd your mamas say? Most folks got mamas and most folks heard those kinds of threats. Maybe those'll work for..." he trails off, slowly tilting forward and jerking awake. "Maybe that kinda shit work for us."

Harry scratches his belly, tilting his head in thought. "That might work. 'Don't be a beast' is pretty simple. It's not funny, but it doesn't have to be. It just has to be easy to remember." He looks to Chet and raises a paw in a half-shrug. "We can still think about it, but we should probably get something to eat first... maybe a little real sleep, too."

 

Some hours later there's a banging on the door. Norm rolls off of his couch and trundles to the door, opening it for Billie and Audie. They certainly look well-rested, the lucky fucks; however  _they_ got to sleep in their beds all day. They didn't get high, go to a costume shop, and try to shoot a monster movie in Little Rodentia. When I figure out whose idea _that_ was, there'll be hell to pay, you can bet on it. "All right, what the fuck's the big deal? Unlike you assholes, _some_ of us have shit to do tonight," Billie announces, about three times louder than necessary. Audie follows close behind, dressed for work in khakis and a polo: the uniform of the underappreciated and underpaid.

Chet pulls himself up from the couch and takes a breath. "Okay. Now this is gonna sound really weird, but it's kind of a big deal, and if we pull it off we might _actually_ end up profiting from it. How much did Harry tell you when he called?"

Billie blinks. "That we should come over here as soon as we could and that's all, when does he _ever_ explain shit?" To his credit, Harry's about as tired as any of us. He made the call, he got across what was necessary, and the rest can be settled here. Her tone loses a little of its sarcastic bite. "No but really, I've gotta get Princess Pawprints to work soon."

Chet takes a seat. "Okay, here's the deal. We fucked up this morning, nothing really serious, but there's a way we can get out of it. The city wants us to do a series of PSAs, basically, because there's some rumor going around about folks not being very civic-minded."

Billie snorts as she drapes herself over a chair. "The fuck does that mean? They've finally noticed predators get the short end of the stick every day, or what?"

He shrugs. "Some of that, probably, but more about paranoid dickheads drinking the Flocks kool-aid and actual assholes who make life hard for everyone else. Anyway, we wanna get everyone thinking of stuff that can make this work. Harry and Norm kinda came up with a catchphrase we can build on if it seems possible, 'don't be a beast.' It's easy, it's descriptive, what do you think?"

The dingo laces her fingers behind her head and thinks. "Kinda lame. And why are we being brought in for your public service sentence? It's not like _we_ got arrested."

Audie has something more helpful to say. "What if we pull some Goofus and Gallant shit? It could be, like... Beast and Best."

Chet's eyes open wide and he points approvingly at the marten. "Yes. YES. That's the best thing I've fucking heard all night. Granted, I haven't heard much tonight, but that's a solid number one."

Billie rolls her eyes. "Great. So what, like, Best sorts his recycling and Beast dumps it in the river? That's comedy gold right there. Why aren't you on TV yet?" she snarks, unimpressed. Now, Billie might seems like an unmitigated asshole, and in a way you'd be right. But she and I operate as the necessary wet blankets of this group to shoot everyone down from time to time and keep them grounded. I believe she derives some sick joy from it.

Harry waddles in from the kitchen with a paw full of grapes. "Well I know who's playing Beast, if that's the way we're going," he says through a mouthful of fruit as his eyes settle on me.

Audie nods. "Hell yeah, who better? Reese is the beastiest out of all of us, it's fucking perfect."

Why does this kind of shit always happen? "Okay, first, the word is _beastliest_ , and second, fuck all of you."

Chet throws his paws up in a shrug. "Hey, man, they've got a point. Didn't the guy say things like fishing without a license and jaywalking? If we just go along the same vein, we've got littering, dumpster diving, and killin' birds, which are all things you've _actually done_."

"Like hell I have! What makes you think I dumpster-dive?!"

"All right, but you've killed birds and littered. You're also the best actor out of all of us, and I know you're not gonna argue _that_." Goddamnit.

"Hey, have you forgotten I'm a member of CRAMP? What the hell do you think they're gonna do if they see me on TV playing every fucking weasel stereotype?"

Billie laughs. "Fuck! Why not just play both? That way they can't get mad, because you're also being a good role model!"

I look around, desperate to find an ally in this apartment, but all I hear is the silent rattling of heads as they bob up and down. Harry chokes down a wad of half-chewed grapes and points to Chet and Norm. "Dude! You guys could be the cops that nab him every time!"

Norm laughs. "Shiiit, my mama always thought I'd make a good cop. Maybe a fake one's good enough, right?"

Fuck. There's no way I'm getting out of this without just disappearing, is there? FUCK! I sigh. "I hate every single one of you."


	40. Dip It In Milk

I sling my bag over my shoulder and wave to my new colleagues, leaving behind the makeshift theater we've all hung our hopes on. I was cautiously pessimistic going into this, but I actually think I may have had the wrong idea about these folks. Ursula and Colin are the only ones whose names I knew when I showed up - and it turns out Ursula actually dresses like a beatnik every day of her life - but I got along well enough with everyone else. Maybe I just remember the bad interactions from college, all the full-of-themselves assholes (of which I was one, I admit.) The reading went well. We all have a better idea for what Ursula wants out of this production, and my initial impression was correct: it's a drastic departure from the source material. That said, I think it might be a lot of fun. No way to tell if the critics or the public will be so keen on it, though. I'm absolutely certain, however, that Little Shop of Terrors has never had such liberties taken with it. But still, I hope this one works out. God, I hope... I'd like one project to end well. I don't even want to think about the  _other_  acting opportunity I'm heading towards. Art's art, and sometimes you have to do things you'd rather not, but this damn ad campaign could get my ass kicked or worse.

I work my way through traffic, keeping my eyes peeled for what's been described to me as 'a shitty, dirty strip mall' on the north side of Savanna Central. I slow down, peering at one as I pass. Generic tax office, claw and beauty salon with a strange name, a dingy 'massage' parlor with neon bamboo in the window... PawPrints Express, that might be the one. I throw the wheel to port as soon as I see an opening in the oncoming lane and set anchor in front of the print store. Looks pretty empty inside, just one customer. I tug the door open and walk in.

"But I wanted these printed in _color!_ What am I supposed to do with these?!" the tall lioness asks, frustration plain to hear in her voice. I can't even see who she's talking to, but the voice from behind the counter tells me I'm at the right place.

"...Ma'am, the original you provided to us was in black and white. We can't make a color print of a black a-"

"I don't need a lecture, I need the posters I  _paid_  you for! What kind of service is this? Do you want me to tell the whole PTA how you _ruined_ their bake sale?!"

I can't see Audie but I can feel the deep, welling rage evident as her voice trembles slightly. Or... she might be about to lose her shit laughing. It's not how I'd react in her place, so I think I'll err on the side of 'murderous.' She sighs, "Again, ma'am, a color print of a black and white poster will be in black and white. If you're unhappy with our service, I'll issue a refund and you're welcome to take your poster to another copy shop. I'll just take th-"

"Don't I keep those?" she asks, as a large, golden paw thuds down upon the stack of copies.

A long pause follows. "N-no, ma'am, not unless you want a _refund_."

"Fine! Just give me the refund," she snarls, huffing and puffing the whole time Audie processes the refund. "I'm _never_ coming to this shop again."

I finally see Audie behind the counter as the woman leaves. Smile on her face, waving a paw, 'Don't PAWSe to ask for help!' button on her shirt. I notice a slight twitching of her right eyelid, a subtle hint that someone avoided death this early morning. I approach the counter as her thousand-yard stare misses me completely. "Hi, I need, like, to copy some library books. Can you, like, help me with that?" I ask, in the dumbest-sounding voice I can come up with.

Her gaze SNAPS my way with a speed that startles me, but not as much as the barely-concealed malice in her eyes. This lasts for only a fraction of a second, however, as she realizes first that I'm a friend pulling her tail, and second that I'm here to rescue her from this night's horrible tale of wage-slavery. "REESE! Oh thank god, I could fucking _kiss_ you right now. Get me the hell out of here!"

The opportunity for hilarious wordplay does not evade my comedic senses. Dare I turn her own words around on her? It's a risky proposition, for while humor may improve her mood, the rude nature of my first thought may direct her rage towards demanding customers squarely upon me. It's dangerous, but I think we're close enough to laugh it off... screw it, full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes. "That sounds fun, but I think it'd be better if you kissing fucked me instead." I feel the fur on my back start to prickle and stand straight as the following silence grows longer.

Audie looks side to side, as if searching for someone to ask whether her ears are working. "Huh? Wait, hang on... kissing fuck... oh, fucking kiss you, kissing fuck you. Is that what you were going for? That's the weirdest way I've ever fucking heard a phrase get turned. You're not fucking stoned or anything right now, are you?" she laughs, hopping up onto and over the counter to slug my shoulder.

I shrug and quickly begin rubbing the impact site. "I don't know. Sounded funny in my head."

"I keep forgetting how weirdly you think. Is it some foreign-language thing, or are you just insane from living in the middle of nowhere for so long?"

"Probably both." I follow her through the door and out toward my van.

 

It was a quiet morning once we arrived at Norm's apartment - being that he's the largest, and therefore happens to have the roomiest place, this has become our usual gathering point - with some quiet discussion of upcoming gigs and future sketches giving way to a short sleep before the day's many productions begin. My usual alarm tone, the foghorn, begins to blare and I barely notice the shocked sounds of panic around me. "WHAT THE FUCK!" "WHAT'S HAPPENING?" "I THINK I PEED!" Cheese and rice, it's just a foghorn. It's not even loud, it's just really piercing. I fumble blindly for my phone and poke at the screen, finally dismissing the alert after several moments of trying. "Calm down goddamnit, it's just the alarm. What, did you think it was an air raid or something?"

Harry's the first to respond coherently. "Dude, get a different tone, or let one of _us_ set an alarm next time, okay? Holy shit."

"Fuck that. I'm a heavy sleeper sometimes, I need that horn. I'm not relying on a goddamn one of you to wake me because I'm not starring in one more fucking puppet show." That gets a laugh, somehow. Why do they only laugh at the things I say when I'm _not_ trying to be funny? It gets on my nerves sometimes, I really don't get it.

Chet rolls his head around, popping his neck loud enough to stop all conversation. "...Ooh, that's probably no good. All right, what were we gonna shoot first? The devil thing?"

I groan. "Didn't I say I wasn't doing that? Sure, maybe it sounds funny to all of you, but you're not gonna be the ones running for your life from whatever giant motherf-"

Billie pinches my mouth shut. "Nuh-uh. You're doing it, or I'm not doing that surrealist bullshit _you_ came up with." I growl quietly to myself as she insults it again. It's not surrealist bullshit, it's intellectual humor. It's just my luck we have to rely on her for it, since she's the only one with keys to a bar.

Norm puts on a thick jacket and checks his pockets inside and out. "Okay, we good to go. You got the bags?"

Billie hefts a couple plastic bags of assorted crap (and what passes for costumes around here) with an unamused sigh. "Yeah."

The lot of us follow Norm to his car, and for as early as it is in the day, it's already too goddamn hot for me. "Hey, as much as I like being smuggled around in your jacket, do you think maybe this time I could ride in the trunk or the glove box?"

Norm gives me a playfully stern look. "Mammal, you know I can't afford that kind of ticket. The only car seat I got is about right for Harry, and you know they're comin' down hard on unsecured passengers."

"Then why don't I drive? They can't pull us over for passengers they can't see."

Billie shakes her head. "No fucking way am I riding in that thing. Not until it's cleaned, scrubbed, painted, and the paint scrubbed again."

"It's not that bad!" I reply, throwing my paws up in frustration. "I just don't want to ride in Norm's pocket, because if I do, you're gonna be dropping me off at the morgue when I die of heatstroke!" Riding in Norm's pocket has its advantages, don't get me wrong. I'm surprised the theaters in this town haven't caught wise to the scheme by now. But when the sun is up and the mercury's rising, it's not a risk I'm willing to take. "Fine! I'll follow in the van, and you can all kiss my ass."

Chet sighs. "All right, it's not that big of a deal, guys. Look, Reese, you do what you gotta do. Norm, drive slow so he can keep up. Is anyone else riding in the van?"

Audie raises a paw. "Yeah, sorry Norm, but he's kinda got a point. I don't need to be swaddled in down on a day like this."

Norm shrugs, his feelings unhurt. "Yeah, makes sense. If you guys get lost, Audie, you got Zoogle Maps?"

She pulls her head back in mock surprise. "What do you think I am, a cavedweller? We'll be fine."

I turn and head for my sanctuary as Audie follows, muttering under my breath. "What the fuck am I doing..."

 

What the fuck am I doing. Crouched in a hole like a goddamn mole or something, without my glasses, cheap costume cape chafing at my neck, and cheap plastic horns pinching my skull... and for what? So Billie will 'play along' with something better than anything she's suggested in weeks? Not all of us just throw out dick and vagina jokes, you know. Some of us want our audience to have to _figure out_ the punchline from time to time. It's called comedy, not middle school! God I hate this. I'm half fucking naked, sitting in a hole, and I'm still too hot. Make that three-quarters naked. Those 'hot pants' Audie was so insistent on turned out to be a bright red banana hammock, and this cape is some kind of horrible, unbreathable plastic fabric that just wants to cling to me and suffocate me. If this doesn't work I'm gonna shove this tiny, plastic pitchfork up the first ass I can catch. ...Wait. What's that rumbling?

A golf ball bigger than my head blocks out the light from above, landing with a painful crack on my unprotected melon. Justifiably annoyed, I push it back up out of the hole and remember I have a part to play - whether I like it or not. I clamber out of the hole and leap onto the green, letting loose a maniacal cackle as I hold my pitchfork over my head.

"HEY! You're ruined my birdie, you little pipsqueak!" a frightening baritone bellows, and suddenly I remember I'm standing in the open - almost naked - functionally blind - on a golf course where the players could accidentally kill me and not even realize they'd stepped in someone. I freeze momentarily as I squint at the angered golfer, his appearance little more to me than a vast trapezoid of darkness thundering towards me.

Oh fuck, I need to run. My cape whirls as I turn towards the rough, pumping my tiny legs for all that they're worth. Faster... faster... I can hear him cursing me, the low rumble of his voice growing louder. He's gaining on me. Fuck this!! I throw the pitchfork aside and break into full scamper, jinking blindly from side to side to confound my pursuer. Surely he can't turn like I can; whatever he is, he's a _big_ one, and he's got a lot of momentum to work against. "You rotten little weasel, when I get my hooves on you I'm going to-"

Oh FUCK this guy! First he plays an elitist fucking game like golf, and now he's a _specist_ , too? I really shouldn't be surprised. Time to change the game. I stop on a dime and wheel around to face him, teeth and claws bared, screaming absolute bloody murder as I lunge at him. Unable to stop as quickly as me, he skids along the ground before he loses balance and tumbles head-over-hooves past me. Taking my chance, I resume my mad dash toward safety and make it into the woods to search for the assholes who put me up to this.

"HARRY! CHET!" I call out among the trees, squinting at shadows and jumping at every snap and rustle. "Okay... the first one of you I find, I'm taking a bite out of your ass. I _know_ you're out there, now bring me my glasses and my fucking pants." Something is coming, stomping through the undergrowth and crashing through low branches as it rushes towards me. I turn to face it and screech as it grabs me, lifting me off the ground and running with me in under its arm.

I bite and claw at whatever's got me, receiving only a mouthful of feathers. I spit and cough as a familiar giggle shakes me. "They was cops!" Norm wheezes through fits of laughter, " _They was cops!_ " I suddenly realize why I've got feathers in my mouth, and I hope his jacket wasn't expensive. ...I also wonder why he's still wearing the goddamn thing, since he's not smuggling anyone in its pockets and it's hotter than hell today.

And I should know how hot hell is. The little red horns on my head say so.

 

I pace up and down the bar, rubbing my forehead. "Look, goddamnit, it's a simple concept, and even if _you_ can't find the humor in it, that doesn't mean it's unfunny. Just play your fucking part and we can move on, or keep arguing with me every five minutes and we can stay here until fucking nightfall!" I snarl, as Billie's glare meets my own.

"There's no fucking _joke_ here! There's no setup, there's no punchline, there's no funny dialogue, it's boring!" Everyone else is staying out of it, but I can't shake the feeling that they might agree with her. It's not cheap, easy humor like a polecat in devil horns causing mayhem on a golf course, it's subtle.

"It's a deliberate misrepresentation of a perfectly normal social activity, and that's where it's humorous! No pair of mammals would act this way. It's a carefully thought out farce of meant to point out ridiculous elements of common behavior that none of us ever stop to consider and what the fuck am I even doing here, none of our fucking audience would understand the goddamn humor in it anyway..." I drag a paw down my face and stomp to the edge of the bar, sitting down with my feet over the edge. "Fine. Fine. I give up, you can go on to the stupid, simple shit you had in mind, we'll go to a laundromat and film me going for a ride in a washing machine or something. It's not about art, it's about clicks on a fucking webpage and views on ZooTube, let's just throw turds at the wall until we're all filthy, stinking rich!"

Billie rolls her eyes and turns away to set chairs back in place as Chet sighs, shaking his head as he starts putting his equipment away. Harry manages to haul himself onto the counter and take a seat beside me, patting me gently on the shoulder. "It's all right, bro. They can't all be zingers, you know?"

"It's not that... well, it is that, to begin with and probably most of all. But also the goddamn futility of this... this _project_." I spit that word out as derisively as I can. "We're not the first to try this shit. We aren't the last ei- hell, I guarantee you thirty other groups of morons with less talent than us have seen our videos and thought, 'LOL, we could TOTALLY do that!' and they along with everyone else have just been flooding ZooTube with mindless, idiotic drivel meant to appeal to the widest and stupidest audience available. Do we really expect anything from this? Are we just as stupid as they are to put our time into this instead of maybe finding real jobs that can pay for a fucking apartment?!"

Harry pulls his head back slightly, shaking off the storm surge of negativity I've vomited onto him. "Dude. It's not that bad, all right? Are you feeling okay? You hungry or something?"

I look down and sigh, scratching my head. "No... I'm just..." I turn my head back up, staring towards a high shelf but not looking at anything on it. "For one thing, you've seen why I don't direct things. You can only have so many productions fall apart around you before you realize where the problem really lies," I explain, gesturing to myself. "Not only that but I came here really on-edge, you know, after literally running for my _fucking life_  this morning. I mean, yeah, I got away, but I could have _died_ there, and all I'd be is a red smear on the grass with a cordon of police tape to cap off my life." I pull my glasses off and rub my eyes. "And I'm tired... and I am fucking _hungry_ , you were right about that."

Harry shakes his head with a calm sigh. "Dude, I know this is gonna sound simplistic, but you just gotta relax. And I'm not gonna tell you to just smoke it away - sure, that works a lot of the time, but there are other ways too, and some of them give a better return, you know? How's everything going? You been sleeping well?" Oh, great... Harry's a good friend. Better than I think I deserve, and when he shows it, I just feel guilty. He'd probably be making good money if he hadn't dropped out of vet school.

"Can we not do this here, please? Look, I'm just in a bad mood, I've been in a funk for a few days, it's fine. I'm fine - well, no, I'm not 'fine,' but I'll get through it like every other time, I just need some time to myself."

Understanding as ever, Harry raises his paws and scoots away a few inches. "It's all right, Reese, just know I'm available if you need to talk. A lot of what you've said makes sense, and a lot of it is normal shit to feel. Hell, I'd be having a bad day too if a fucking water buffalo charged me, and I'm not near as quick as you are. I'd probably have shit my pants. You've never really seemed a hundred percent sold on this whole thing, you've - hell, despite doing okay at it, you're still not sold on comedy, dude. I can tell. You're warming up to it, though, and once you get all the way in it's gonna get so much easier. And whatever you think, we don't ignore you when you object to things. Yes, plenty of videos are just us messing with you or recording you when you're drunk, high, sleeping... and I know it pisses you off that those are our top videos."

I replace my glasses atop my snout and stare at the wall, my face a chiseled portrait of neutral displeasure. He's goddamn right that shit pisses me off. Why can't the things I _write_ get that kind of attention? He pats me on the shoulder again. "Now. What say we go chill out while Chet gets to work editing?"

 

Harry, Audie, and I sit in a tiny restaurant, one of the hundreds of independently-owned, cookie-cutter takeout places that litter this city like condoms on the beach after spring break. ...Ugh, that is really not a good simile to think to oneself _ever_ , much less while eating. Harry's busy with his plate of broccoli beetle, Audie's halfway through her helping of cricket kung pao, and I'm just picking at my sad, steamy serving of shrimp lo mein. In all my years away from home, I just can't seem to adapt to foods from other places, and this is no exception. It doesn't help that they gave me a couple fucking _sticks_ to try to eat with. The shrimp are pretty easy, I can just spear those and take a bite. But the noodles are the bulk of the dish, and try as I might, I just can't copy the dexterous doings displayed by my friends and colleagues. It's just my luck that they seem to have run out of forks.

"How is it?" Audie asks, staring at me from across the table. I look up, caught slightly off-guard by her unexpected interrogation.

I look between my plate and her. "It's all right. The shrimp's not really fresh, but it's not gone bad, either. I've eaten worse."

"Dude, you _love_ worse. When it gets hot out I can still smell that rotten fish you opened in my apartment," Harry laughs through a mouthful of bitter, green plant matter.

I shrug. "Hey look, man, that is a delicacy in a lot of places. It's not something we eat every day, but we're not the only ones eating it, and there is scarier food in this world than fermented herring."

Audie laughs. Harry shoves another clump of rice and plant matter into his mouth, shaking his head. He eventually swallows and speaks again. "If there's scarier shit than that, don't fucking tell me about it, okay? I don't wanna have trouble falling asleep as I think of folks eating, like... Idunno." He turns to Audie, whose mouth is currently full. "What's scarier than that shit? Bones? Other folks' brains? Fuckin' _souls?_ "

Audie nearly chokes, slapping a paw on the table in restrained laughter. She manages not to die and swallow her food instead of aspirating it, then socks Harry playfully on the shoulder. "Dude, not when I'm fucking eating! Cheese and crackers, you're gonna kill me."

I shake my head, a half-smile twisting one corner of my mouth. "I can't imagine you having trouble sleeping, Harry. Not with the fucking pharmacy of drugs under your mattress."

He chuckles. "Yeah, you're probably right. But speaking of, it seems like you've been having it really rough lately, dude. You've always been kinda hotheaded, at least as long as I've known you, but lately I've been a little worried. You doin' okay upstairs? I know this sounds weird coming from me, but have you thought about seeing somebody about all the stress and the anger?"

My expression droops to a polite frown. "I've thought about it once or twice, but I can't afford therapy, I can't afford a doctor, and I _really_ can't afford medication."

Harry waves his paws dismissively. "Nah, dude, I wouldn't suggest meds for you, at least not right off the bat. They can be pretty effective, don't get me wrong, but a lot of the ones I'd think might help you kinda have bad side-effects if you drink on 'em. And taking you away from booze would be like taking a fish away from water, no offense."

Do I drink that much? ...Wait, of course I do. Just look at where I was raised, it's nothing but boats, rocks, and drunks. And this fucking city doesn't help. "I don't know, man. I mean, yeah, I could drink less, and I know I really _should_ drink less, but therapy?"

Audie chimes in. "Yeah, Reese, there's nothing wrong with it. I've known a lot of mammals who've used it - hell, I've used it. I still do sometimes when I'm feeling really crazy."

I narrow my eyes. "You? _Crazy?_ I'd never have guessed."

She throws a fortune cookie, hitting me in the chest. "Dick. And yeah, I used to be real bad. Nervous, paranoid, _super_ fucking paranoid... that's how I got into conspiracy blogs, dude. I used to really get into that shit, but now I can't understand it at all. I hope the folks who do get help, but some of it is just too fucking funny and part of me hopes that they don't. Not gonna lie, I feel guilty about that."

Harry looks back to me. "Yeah, dude. There's all kinds of shit, folks you can talk to, support groups that are free... hell, I'm usually available, you can just talk to me whenever you need to. Support groups are probably a real good idea, though, there's a group for anything you can think of and they're _free_. If you want, I'll look some up and get back to you with a list."

I set my eating sticks down, done with my meal. "Yeah, all right, I mean if you want to, I won't bitch about it." I pause to take a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "Thanks, guys."

Harry scrapes the last of his food into his waiting mouth. "The fuck are friends for, dude? Don't sweat it." He rises from his chair and stretches, turning to the door. "I'll catch you two later."

"Wait, don't you want a ride home?" I ask.

"Nah... for a couple reasons. First, I think I'll have a smoke, and I don't wanna hotbox you while you're drivin'. And two, I could fuckin' walk a little more. Not like it'll hurt me," he adds, patting his big, fat belly. "You two have a good one, all right?"

 

Audie and I retire to the van and pass my pipe back and forth, eager to unwind after the day's sometimes-stressful events. Damn... Harry probably could have just waited, I guess. She flops back onto a cushion, exhales slowly, and ponders. At least I think she's pondering. The look on her face seems to suggest it. She picks her head up and stares at me, finally speaking. "So, hey, are you actually going through some shit, or are you just on some downswing today? Harry seemed to think it was pretty bad, and he knows you better than I do, so I just wanna be sure you're okay."

I set my pipe aside and lean back against some worn boxes. "I don't know. Probably the second one, if I'm being honest. Why? Are you saying you _caaare_ about me?" I ask, sliding into a schoolyard-tease tone.

"Duh! I'm you're friend, ass. That and you owe me at least one date if I'm gonna be your ex," she laughs.

Oh, great. That whole thing again. "You know I was out of my goddamn gourd for that, right? Oh, that's right, I told you that. Are you seriously going to hold me to it?"

"Hell yeah. Free meal, good dick, and the opportunity to hold hilarious shit like that over your head for as long as I can? I've already been writing a good bit about the whole thing, don't leave me without an encore! I'm a grown-up lady with a job and a dream, mama needs material."

"You're a fucking _pest_ , that's what you are." She rates me as good? I'm not sure how to feel about that. One one paw, she could have not brought it up and I'd never have thought twice about it. But on the other... hell, I'd have settled for mere acknowledgement. ...Why are my lips burning? "Hey, just how hot was that stuff you ate? I think you contaminated my damn pipe with it."

She shrugs. "Not very. Why, can you taste it or something? Hey, wait. If you're trying to imply that sharing a pipe is like kissing without touching, then you've made out with Harry way more than you've made out with me, and that's a betrayal of my trust. It's probably why I left you."

My head spins as I try to make sense of that, and she begins to chuckle. "Okay, no. First off, that didn't even occur to me, and second, if you're the one making up scenarios where I'm cheating on you, then I probably broke up with _you_ , not the other way around. Besides, I'm the one who asked you to be my ex in the first place... what the fuck are we saying?!" I laugh, clapping a paw to my forehead. "I mean, how much did we fucking smoke, right?"

She clutches her gut, rolling slightly on her cushion. "Dude, not even that much. Is this some kind of super shit Harry gave you? Or are we just that fucking funny?"

"Maybe _you_ are, I still don't know why folks laugh at anything I have to say! Most of it's just fucking anger, basically, and I can't wrap my head around it," I shuckle, catching my breath.

"Dude, you're like, the most unintentionally funny guy I know. I don't understand it either, maybe the rest of us are fucked up for laughing at it, but when you get absolutely enraged, it's really fucking funny."

I stop laughing and stare at the far wall of the van. "Yeah, I don't really get that. I mean, I think I might have anger issues. Isn't that a bad thing? Just confirm for me that I get angry a lot. Because I think I do." She waggles a paw in the air noncommittally. "Fucking drinking and smoking it away isn't exactly the healthiest coping mechanism there is, you know? And just stowing it in a dark locker in my head is just gonna give me a stroke or something someday. I really wonder sometimes - when I'm sober enough - if I'm gonna drop dead at thirty-five or something if I don't do something about it."

She half-shrugs, rolling onto her front and shifting to face me. "Talking about it's supposed to be good. Right? Just do what you've been doing on stage, except, like... more."

"But is that really fair? Those folks pay money to hear stuff that's been written to be funny, not to have raw anger vomited all over them."

"So write down the angry shit, then. Write it to be funny, or if you don't think it's funny, just run it by one of us. Is that any help? I'm sorry, I'm not a fucking zen master about shit like Harry is. The kind of things that come out of my brain aren't usually very helpful."

I wave a paw, closing my eyes for a moment. "Hell, don't worry about that. I think just not being alone helps."

"Well... what _else_ do you think might help?" she asks, her tone shifting slightly.

I crack one eye open and look at her for a few seconds, quietly. "...Iunno." I close my eye again, and startle as I feel paws on my lap. "WHAT THE F- ohh... okay, uh, this... all right. I mean, if you want to, then that's _fiiii_ -" I inhale sharply, collecting my thoughts, shivering slightly. "Oohhhh... okay. Um, yeah, that... that works. But when this is over, young la- young lady, I think we're gonna have to talk about your very questionable taste in meEEAAAGH OH FUCK IT BURNS"

Goddamnit do I hate spicy food.


	41. Frontier Medicine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution: graphic imagery of fantastical nature ahead. Blood and guts and stuff.

Knife goes in, guts come out. Knife goes in, guts come out. I sigh, bored, as I work my way through a mountain of pollock. I've been slowly getting over my indignant fury at having to take this job, one I did for so long back home, and swore I'd never have to do again, but this job feeds me. Comedy doesn't get me much more than a couple free drinks on a good night, and I can't survive on that. But this isn't so bad, I have to remind myself. It's easy, if tedious, and I know how to do it. Besides, I couldn't afford to eat this much seafood any other way. Sure, I'm covered in brine, I smell like fish guts, and I can't feel my paws, but it gives me time to think so long as I'm careful enough not to get too distra-

" _SON OF A CHRISTIAN EWE, MY FUCKING PAW!_ " I shriek, balling my left paw into a tight fist and clutching it to my apron. I let the knife fall onto the floor and scramble toward the barely-useful first aid cabinet nearby, pressing my injured paw against my chest. Gauze... GAUZE... WHERE'S THE FUCKING GAUZE?! Fedor pokes his head in from up front, grumbling and looking for me through half-lidded eyes. Clearly he’s been sleeping behind the counter, but he’s a frighteningly light sleeper. The bell on the door is enough to wake him, much less my pained screams.

“What the fuck you do? Funny boy better be bleeding to stop working, still have fish to clean!”

“Fuck the fish, where are the fucking _bandages_ , you cheap bastard?!” I spit, facing him and pointing accusatorily at the nearly-empty first aid cabinet. “Ohhh fuck, the salt’s getting in it now!” I push past him, running into the customer bathroom and clambering up the steps to the sink. OH FUCK THAT’S COLD. Oh shit... oh fuck, that’s a bunch of blood. Shit... I’m gonna need stitches. Shit. I’m... I’m gonna sit down. I grab a pawful of paper towels and stagger out of the bathroom, plopping down on my butt with my back against the wall. Fedor waddles over and stares down at me, focusing on my wounded grabber.

“Mmm. Sit. You need drink,” he says, disappearing behind the counter and rummaging through some bottles. I breathe a rough, petulant sigh. Not _everything_ can be solved with alcohol, even I know that. But it may help calm me down. I can’t see the harm in one shot of... uh... fuck. Fedor holds before me a single shot of vodka, all right, but it’s one of _his_ shot glasses, so I no longer know if he’s trying to help me or kill me. “Drink. I call friend.”

“You... you have smaller cups, I know you do. How about one of those? Two, if you insist, but there’s no fucking way I’m drinking all tha-” Fedor grabs me by the throat and tilts my head up, dumping the glass down my throat and all over my chin. I jerk out of his grip, coughing and sputtering, anger boiling in my belly as the spirit burns down my throat. “FUCKING HELL! If you touch me again I’ll bite your goddamn thumbs off!!”

He huffs a single laugh, shaking his head. “Shaddap. I call friend, she look at paw. You sit tight.”

I wait for what feels like an hour, possibly two, as the alcohol slowly dulls the throbbing pain in my paw. I'm sure it's not been that long. Time drags when you've been cut open, I suppose. _Help is coming_ , he says. I don’t reckon I’m comfortable with whatever ‘help’ he can summon. I especially don’t feel comfortable that they’re coming _here_. I look around the front of the shop from my seat on the floor. The dingy, sterile fluorescent light, the sickly-pale hospital green of the walls, the cold tile beneath me... it fits, in a way, but this is no clinic. This is a morgue, and I’m the coroner. How poetic that I should be stuck by my own knife; hoist by my own petard, as the saying goes. I must be drunk. I don’t think I lost that much blood. My internal monologue is cut short by the front door opening with a telltale ring, and Fedor emerges from the back room, wiping his paws.

“ _Sonja, drago mi je da te vidim. Ja-_ ”

The lynx interrupts his greeting, or whatever that was, with what sounds like a stern chastisement. “ _Imam posao da trčim, Fedor. Šta je dođavola tako važno?_ ” Fedor shrugs and points to me, and her shoulders droop with a sigh as she looks between us. “ _Zašto me zovete samo da sakupite ljude?_ ” she mutters, approaching me and crouching as she sets her purse beside her. “Show me your paw,” she says, grabbing it and pulling it towards her with no cooperation on my part. I blink slowly, staring at the bloody gash across my palm as she tuts and mutters to herself. “Okay. Hold still or this hurts more than it has to.”

I watch in my drunken haze as she pulls out a needle and thread, pinches my paw between her fingers, and begins to stitch me together. “Ow... you know, that hurts, can I just get a bandaid?”

“Quiet,” she chides, continuing her work with impressive ease. “This part _will_ hurt,” she warns, as she ties it off, snips the thread, and pours another giant shot of vodka riGHT ON THE PAW SHE JUST SEWED UP

I scream, as is only natural, and she knocks me on the head with a free paw. “Shut up, you're fine! Keep clean, keep wrapped, change bandage every day. If you get infection...” she pauses, glancing over her shoulder at Fedor, “...go to _real_ doctor, make _him_ pay bill.” She jerks her head toward Fedor with that last bit, making clear her opinion on workplace injuries. She wraps a little gauze around my paw and puts her kit away, rising and heading for the door. She snips one last unintelligible remark to Fedor and she’s gone into the night, back to whatever he must have interrupted her from.

I look up to Fedor, thoroughly shitfaced by now, and shrug silently. He shakes his head. “Take rest of night off. I pay you for full shift. What you waiting for?” I rise to my feet with a nod and stagger out the door, waving goodbye to Fedor and the silent mobsters in the corner with my patchwork paw, and climb into my van to sleep off the booze.

 

The piercing honk of my phone wakes me out of my drooling, alcohol-induced slumber. I reach for it and remember quickly that I'm working with half a pair of paws for the time being, rolling over and twisting around to grab with my right. Fuck... I'm too drunk to talk to my mother, but at least it's a regular phone call. "Hi," I answer, in as normal a tone of voice as I can manage. I don't know how, but she instantly knows something's up. Am I sick? Am I tired? Have I been eating well? The flow of questions is an unceasing torrent, to the point that I wonder if she's forgotten why she'd even called me. And just why did she never seem so concerned when I lived at home? Probably because I was an annoying prick of a son, I tell myself, chuckling internally. "No... no, I'm fine, I'm just a little drunk. Yes, no, I know, but it's not- no, my boss forced it on me, actually. I'd hurt my paw, and he wanted to calm me down, I think."

As I recount the tale of my injury and subsequent medieval-style surgery, I'm surprised at how okay with it she seems. But then, I remind myself again, medicine and surgery in Lundøye is harsh and primitive due to a lack of specialized and expensive equipment. She seems to calm down for a moment, at least long enough to ask if I know why she's calling. "Not to be a dick, mom, but you called _me_. I'm drunk and I was sleeping, how would I know?" Oh. Why, yes, I do remember someone messaging me on Zoogle Plus.

"...Olavur just wanted to catch up with you, and your grandmother is _furious!_ She says if you weren't so far away she'd be on the first boat to Okslo to whip you with a belt."

I grumble, covering my eyes with my bandaged paw. "Why doesn't she just ride her broom? You know she never liked me, tell her to suck it up." To be honest, I like my grandma. She's a nice old lady even if she doesn't like you, but I don't need to take her shit anymore. Besides, she'd never leave the islands. That old bag believes in _sea monsters_.

"I will not! I just want you to apologize to him so she'll leave me alone, is that too much for you to do?"

I shrug. "Yeah. I mean, probably. Remember when he and his asshole friends threw me in the latrine? Or when Erlingr got the first flush toilet on the island, and they scrubbed it with my face? Or when they threw me in the _other_ latrine? I have a lot more of these, do you want me to keep going?"

I hear a long sigh on the other end. "Reese, I'm sorry those things happened to you. I wish I'd done more."

I take a deep breath and clear my throat, doing my best impression of my father speaking one of his favorite motivational phrases: "Wish in one paw, an' shit in the other. Now, which one's gonna fill up first?" I hear no reply, and I know she's cursing the fact that I inherited her capacity to hold a grudge. The boulder doesn't fall far from the mountain, after all. Side note: I get strange looks when I use that idiom aloud. It makes _perfect_ sense, but I still get stared at, corrected, or asked stupid questions. There are places in this world that don't have trees, much less fucking _apples_. You'd think that everyone would know that by now. Don't these fuckers have the internet?

She grumbles quietly and addresses me at last. "Well, I'll talk to her, but I don't want to hear about you threatening another one of your cousins, do you hear me?"

"Okay. Then could you tell all of them that I still don't want to hear from them?" I thought I was done with family drama, goddamnit. But no, one cousin finds me on ZooTube and suddenly he wants to act like I never threatened to gut him if I ever saw him again. "You know what, tell them I don't even want them watching _videos_ of me. They didn't like me back then so they're not allowed to like me now, is that fair?" It's petty of me, I admit, but not very. If I really wanted to, I could probably get with Chet and find out if we can block the channel in certain countries. We'd probably have to block all of the Union, but who cares what they think.

I run my bandaged paw over my head habitually, then pull it back to stare at it for a moment. "All right... look, I'm not sorry I said that to him. He deserved it, and you know it. But I _am_ sorry that you're taking the fallout. Just... tell grandma to settle down, she doesn't need to work herself up over this." From this point the call goes back to what would be considered normal. A little catching up, a little joking with each other... a nice call to get from one's mother. Eventually we say our goodbyes, she chides that I should call more, and I respond noncommittally before we hang up. I'm going back to sleep.

 

The howling blast of my phone alerts me to another caller, but honestly, fuck that. They can call back. Any second now they should get tired of waiting, hang up, and send me a text message like any modern, civilized mammal. Yep... just one more ring and they should get the message. Hm. Patient fucker, aren't they? Surely they have better things to... FUCKING HANG UP AND TEXT ME! Goddamnit! I snatch the phone and squint at the screen, making out... three letters, I think. I can't think of anyone I know with a three-letter name, but then, I am still quite drunk. I accept the call and hold the phone to my ear. "Hi, you've reached Reese. I'm passed-out drunk right now and can't get to the phone, please leave your message after the burp." I force a burp, though I quickly realize I shouldn't have tried that. I narrowly manage to avoid coating my living space with vomit. Hey, what... wait a minute. Are they actually leaving a message?!

"...wanted to talk with you about some of these songs. You probably deserve to hear them anyway since you wrote the source material, and I think we've got a pretty good sound going for them, might even-"

Songs? When did I write any- oh, it's Asa. I interrupt her message. "Okay, uh, that wasn't my outgoing message, but I have a couple questions. One, why would you actually think my outgoing message is 'I'm drunk and can't answer the phone,' and two, why would you leave me a fucking _voicemail?_ Just text me." What the hell, who leaves a message? Is this the fucking 80s?

I can almost feel the aura of annoyance projecting through my phone. "Son of a fucking... okay. Did you actually catch any of that?"

"No, I had to force that burp and I almost barfed. I'm actually pretty drunk."

"At this hour? And Susan thinks _I_ drink too much..."

"It wasn't by choice, goddamnit! It's- nevermind that, just tell me what you want."

"Fine, criminy. We've been working on some new songs based off that stuff we snagged from you. A couple are coming together pretty well, and I thought you might want to actually hear them first. You know, since you kinda wrote 'em."

I think for a moment. "Yeah. Sure, I'd like to... just let me know when I can, or let Harry know, I'm sure he'll drag me away from the void I live in. Thanks."

"All right, cool. I'll be in touch," she finishes, hanging up. A nice, short phone call; not as short as I prefer, but shorter than most. Still, I'd prefer to text, that way I have more time to craft a response. Or to sleep, as the case may be. I set my phone down and drop back down onto the... whatever it is I fell asleep on. This a cushion? Yeah, that works. I pull a couple blankets over me to replace the dirty laundry I'd swaddled myself in, reminding myself that as much as I like the cold, I can still fucking freeze to death here in Tundratown.

 

I sit down among thick ferns, deep in a dark and primal forest. A rabbit lies before me, watching in helpless, resigned curiosity as I root through her abdomen for the good stuff. I notice movement on her face in the corner of my eye and turn to look, surprised that my prey is moving. "Oh... shit, are you actually still alive?" I ask, elbow-deep in her guts.

She groans, or tries to. "Yeah, I guess. This is pretty fucking great, by the way. I knew I should have stayed in bed." She rolls her eyes, gazing upward at the canopy.

"Well... this is awkward. I mean, every other time I've killed someone, they've actually been dead. But _you_ ," I pause, wagging a blood-soaked finger at her, "I'll be damned if you're not one hell of a fighter! Shit, I was pretty sure I'd lost you a couple times during that chase, and you kick pretty good. Think I've got a broken rib or two over here. Which tribe did you say you were from again?"

"Uh, I didn't. Sorry if I'm not real chatty when I'm running for my _life_."

"Well I'll have to be a little more careful, I think. You got any kits?"

"How about we leave them out of it? I may be dead, but let's leave my family out of this. Can we do that?"

I extend a paw towards her, trying to dispel her fear. "Oh, no, no, not what I was thinking. I was gonna say, if they take after you, folks like me are gonna have a pretty rough time getting a meal. You should be proud of yourself, yeah?"

She lolls her head a bit. "If you say so. I'm _still_ getting eaten by a predator, so needless to say my self-esteem is pretty sho. Never thought getting killed and eaten could get worse, though... now I'm getting killed and eaten, and I have to watch it happen? Seriously, can my day get _any_ fucking worse?"

I shrug, grimacing slightly. "...Yeah. I've met guys who'd do more than just eat you. A pretty rabbit like you, they'd probably satisfy _another_ sort of hunger as well. Not me, though, I'm just hungry. I'm not some _monster_ ," I add, taking another bite of her kidney.

She manages a sarcastic chuckle. "Well thanks, I feel so much better that I've been _fucking murdered_ by a gentleman." Her brow furrows suddenly. "Oh goddamnit, there was gonna be a dance tonight! I was looking forward to that all month, now I'm gonna miss it... god, this is such a fucking bummer."

"What kind of dance?" I ask, picking my teeth with a claw. "I mean... yeah, you're gonna miss it. I'm sorry you were looking forward to it, but a fella's gotta eat."

She shakes her head with a sigh. "I guess this shit just happens. We're - they're gonna dance to the full moon tonight, praying for rain. The plain's been too dry lately, and we want some green shoots so we don't get sick of dried grass."

I laugh a little, shaking my head at the silliness of that. "Seriously? You're gonna ask the _moon_... for rain? Of all the hare-brained... sorry, no offense meant, but that's ridiculous. The _wind_ brings rain. The moon? Really?"

She appears to be trying to do something, but gets frustrated as nothing happens. "Hey, would you grab my paw there and smack it against my forehead? Not hard, just lightly." I reach over and grip her elbow, helping her facepalm herself. "Thanks. Okay, I don't know what weird things your kind believe, but the moon _definitely_ helps bring rain. Rain comes from clouds, right?"

"Right," I nod, trying to get at her liver.

"Good. And clouds block out the sun, right?"

"Right." Criminy, what is this? Storytime for babies?

"Yeah. Everyone knows the moon is jealous of the sun's brightness, so why _wouldn't_ the moon want to make it rain? The moon talks to the clouds, the clouds block out the sun, and the moon feels better that folks can't see the sun. This is, like, the simplest shit there is."

I think it over, shrugging slightly. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Hey, uh... you can't _feel_ any of this, can you? I just realized that'd be pretty shitty on my part if you've been feeling me rooting around in there this whole time. I just wanted to eat, I don't get off on suffering."

"Well, mentally and emotionally, yeah, this hurts a shitload. Does _that_ not stop you from fucking killing folks?"

"Hey," I interrupt, pointing a scolding finger her way. "I already told you a guy's gotta eat. You think plants want to be eaten? Hell, I'm looking over my _own_ shoulder more often than I'm looking for food. I mean, have you ever SEEN a wolf?! They're fucking terrifying! And if they don't find _you_ first, they're coming for _me_. I'm not that much higher on the food chain, you know."

She scoffs. "Whatever. But no, I really don't feel a thing. I mean, I felt my paw on my face, but from the neck down, nothing. It's weird, because it makes it feel like I'm watching you eat someone else, but I have to keep telling myself that those are _my_ guts in your mouth."

"Yeah, I don't pretend to know how bodies work. I know what parts to eat and what parts to watch out for, but I have no idea how your head is alive and the rest of you isn't."

"Who knows? Maybe something to do with how you broke my neck, I'm no medicine woman."

I shrug. "Mysteries of the world. Hey, before I drag what's left of you to my cave, do you want me to put you out properly?"

She tries to nod, I think. "Yeah, do you think you could? I'd prefer that. Nothing personal, it's just... I'm not really cool on waiting to just fade out."

I look around and find a nice-sized rock. "This ought to do it. Oh, by the way, I figure I should at least ask your name before I do this. I mean, you've been a pretty good sport about it, and you put up one hell of a good fight, so I think I'll paint you on my wall. Someone like you should be remembered."

She rolls her eyes. "It's Ugga. And thanks, I guess."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Thag. Good night, Ugga," I say, bringing the rock down onto her head.

I sit up suddenly in my makeshift bed, sweaty and twitching, and rub my face. What the FUCK was that?! ...I should call Harry. I find my phone and squint at the screen, scrolling through my contacts a mere centimeter from my face. There, that's the one.

"Hey, dude, I've got an idea. Yeah, I know, I _could_ just write it down, but I wanted to run this by you first. Here's how it goes..."


	42. Savage Killer (Qu'est-ce Que C'est)

"Dude I told you, we can't _do_ that. We're building a following, we'd lose at LEAST half our audience the day we post it, and the rest would be peer-pressured into not watching anymore."

I strike my forehead with my paw, gritting my teeth. "If they don't like it, let them _do_ that. If they're so simple-minded that they can't see humor when it's right in front of their noses, then I don't WANT them as an audience. This is ART. Art's SUPPOSED to make you uncomfortable! Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't laugh your striped ass off when I went through it ten minutes ago."

Harry leans his elbows on the counter beside his usual perch at the Electric Embryo. He buries his face in his paws and massages his brow, sighing deeply before looking back to me. "Dude, that's the funniest thing I've heard all month, but you gotta realize we can't do it."

I throw my arms out, looking around theatrically for any obvious signs that forbid humorous depictions of life before civilization. "Why not?! I finally stumble on something worth putting on film, and you tell me we _can't?!_ One of our most-viewed videos is me eating a fucking _egg_. What I'm talking about isn't even violent, just suggestive of violence!"

Harry takes a deep breath. "Bro. You're not listening to me. I'm not saying we can't _film_ it. Seriously, I know exactly who we could ask to be the rabbit. She's super fucking cool, and she's way into goth and macabre shit. If we went to her with this, she'd fucking jump on it in a heartbeat."

I throw my paws forward towards him, begging for further explanation. "And? If she'd be that enthusiastic, what the fuck's stopping us?!"

"Reputation, dude!" he half-shouts, fighting to be the voice of reason for once in his life. "We don't have the reputation, the social capital, or whatever the fuck they're calling it these days to put something out like that. Not unless we want to lose everyone who watches us, everyone who might work with us, or everyone who might pay us to go on a stage." He rubs his face again, forcing himself to calm down. "I know you really want to do it. Shit, dude,  _I_ want to do it. But you can't ask a girl to eat your ass out on a first date! You have to build to that, man! There's gotta be some trust involved!"

I drop onto my butt, leaning back against the rack of vinyl records behind me. "Great. Just great. Out of everyone, I figured _you'd_ back me up on this."

He shakes his head. "Man, Reese, it's not like that, okay? I don't like it either, but that's the way it is right now. _Especially_ right now. We don't have enough of a reputation to withstand the fallout from that, and the whole thing with Bellwether was too recent- dude, they're gonna have to have a trial for her sooner or later, and then shit's gonna get _really_ tense, I guarantee it. I'm sorry, dude, but we just can't. Couple years, maybe, if everything keeps going good. Then we can try it."

"Goddamnit."

"I know, bro. It's a fucking good thing you came to me first, though."

I blink. "Who the hell else would I have gone to? You got me into this comedy bullshit, you're _always_ the first one I go to."

He shrugs, looking back to a catalog and flipping the page. "I'm just saying, if you'd gone to Audie, shit would be going sideways pretty quick. I know she'd agree with you, and she's fucking... have you ever tried to reason her out of anything? She's like one of those trick candles that relights itself, she's impossible to say no to. That, and she's got shitty impulse control. We would have a fucking fight on our paws this morning when we all get together."

I breathe a long sigh, thinking to myself. She does have issues with impulse control, to say the least. Her taste in men is questionable as well.

Harry looks back to me, craning his neck over the counter. "You thought about rewriting it? Maybe tone it down, keep the same sort of humor with different subject matter?" I shrug, waving a paw noncommittally. "We could definitely build on it, dude. Let's spitball this shit."

 

The six of us morons sit around Norm's coffee table, arguing over meaningless drivel and laughing at each other's jokes. The banter won't last long, unfortunately, because we've got to talk business at some point this morning, and we've got work to do and scenes to film. ...Or whatever, it's all fucking digital, but the term lives on. Chet holds his paws up to get our attention, and to remind us that we're here for a purpose. "All right dudes, we've got shit to do. I've been talking with someone in city hall and they want our first PSA as soon as we can get it to 'em, and I don't wanna keep 'em waiting. Audie, how's costumes going?"

Audie laughs and pats the bag beside her, grinning smugly. "Oh, I think we're all right there." I don't know what the fuck she's planning, but I can feel the hair on my back stand up. I could just use my own clothes, for crying out loud! But Audie insisted. Said she has the perfect outfits for Mr. Best and Mr. Beest, and knowing her, it's probably all stuff she bought for dressing in drag. Now she's gonna play dressup with my ass, and that she'd volunteered for the task - much less that she'd enjoy it - fills me with equal parts resignation and concern.

Chet nods. "All right. Norm and I picked up some cop getups the other night. They're not perfect, but they're decent. Harry, you got everything worked out? We've got permission to shoot where we need to?"

Harry nods in return. "Yeah, they were all pretty cool with the idea. Who knew 'special thanks' could get you access like that?"

Chet shrugs. "Well, picking independent shops was a good idea. I don't think a chain would give a shit for our kind of exposure, but little places like free advertising. Billie, you talk with Audie about makeup?"

Billie rolls her eyes with a sigh. "Yeah. Don't expect a fucking miracle, it's not like I've got a lot-"

"You've got a lot more experience than any of us, if that's where you're going."

She clears her throat. "I was actually gonna say it's not like I've got a lot to work with." A few chuckles color the conversation, but they quickly fade. A dig at my looks? I'm surprised she went for such low-hanging fruit on that one; normally she wields her insults like a scalpel, cutting deep into her target's soft, squishy self-esteem with all the skill and precision of a world-class surgeon. It takes time around her before it becomes clear that she doesn't mean the things she says, and needless to say, the talent hasn't earned her a large circle of friends. She isn't as big of an asshole as she seems. She just has trouble keeping her witty observations from flying out of her mouth and slapping figurative faces.

Chet moves on to a brief description of the scenes, which we've heard before more than once, and I clear my throat to interrupt. He looks to me and takes a breath, obviously expecting more dissent from me. "Yeah, Reese? What's up?"

"I have something to say. You asked everyone else, but you're not gonna ask me?"

He looks down, rubbing his eyebrows with the fingertips of one paw. "All right. Spit it out, but if it's what I expect you'll say, you can kiss my-"

"I want to copyright the characters."

He looks up and his head shakes a bit out of surprise. "Holy shit, I thought you were gonna start bitching again. You wanna what?"

"I want to copyright the characters. Mr. Best and Mr. Beest both. It's _my_ image, _I'm_ the one who's gonna get called a stereotype, so I want to make sure if anyone tries to profit off me without my say-so I can legally tell them to go fuck themselves."

Chet looks around at the rest of us and shrugs, looking for their opinions. "Yeah, dude, we can give you that. I already know a bit about it since I set the whole channel up and everything, I'll help you through it. Is that all you really wanted out of this?"

I tilt my head as if thinking and raise one paw in a philosophical pose. "I mean, we could not do this, but I figure that's-"

"Yeah, no. That's not happening. I don't want to get re-arrested, and I'm sure you don't wanna get deported. All right?"

I shrug. "I had to at least say it. You know me by now."

He laughs. "Yeah, I know you did. Ya little bastard."

 

I sigh, sipping my coffee as I pretend to read a newspaper. I didn't think this would be the annoying part, being Mister Best in all sorts of places, recording a bunch of scenes for Chet to cut and splice together into any number of these goddamn ads we're making. The worst part is that Audie put me in a goddamn sweater vest, the dumbest and most pointless piece of clothing imaginable since the invention of the kilt. _Sweaters_ are good. Sweaters are important if you're from where I'm from. But to willfully leave the sleeves off is a dangerous omission that can lead to hypothermia and frostbite if you're unfortunate enough.

God DAMN but this is boring. Sipping coffee, putting garbage in trash cans, buying scones - I'm not a fan of bread. I like my food with a nervous system. I may be biased, since I didn't want to do this in the first place, but I'm pretty sure this entire thing is going to backfire pretty spectacularly because Mr. Best isn't a fucking role model. Oh sure, he'd be a model citizen if he fucking existed, but he's such a colossal fucking _nerd_ that rudeness and littering are going to skyrocket. I look to Chet and drop my 'happy nice guy' expression. "Dude. Are we good? Do we have enough footage so I can take off this ridiculous shit?"

"Yeah, we might be able to get a half a dozen shorts out of this stuff. You sound like you're ready for Mr. Beest."

"What I'm ready for is to take off this fucking sweater vest! I'm fucking roasting in this dork-ass piece of shit, what the hell is this made of? Lava?"

Audie laughs at my discomfort as Chet shakes his head, grinning. "Goddamn you're pissy today. Your paw still hurt or something?"

I all but rip the vest from my body, throwing it to Audie. "Well now that you mention it, yeah, it's been hurting all fucking night. I don't know if _you've_ ever had Yugoslav-Wars first aid, but apparently it focuses one hundred percent on sewing you together and zero percent on comfort or letting you use your fucking paw. Can I wrap this back up now?"

He kneels down and pats me appreciatively on the back. "Yeah, Reese, you can do that. We'll take a break for a bit, we'll film the Beest bits, then you can do whatever the fuck you want to relax. That sound good?"

I scratch my head with a huff. "Fine." I stalk off out of the coffee shop, shadowed by Audie, and retreat to the safe, familiar poverty of my van. I fight the urge to give my wounded paw a rest and carefully unbutton my cuffs instead of biting the buttons off of them, ridding myself of the shirt, the tie, and the low-level strangling sensation they provided. I pick up the half-roll of cheap gauze I paid too much for at a corner store and start wrapping my paw, glaring silently as I slowly block out everything outside my home - and some things within. Audie coughs quietly, almost scaring me out of my skin. "FUCK, how long have you been there?!"

She nearly jumps, startled herself at my startledom, but her shock is swiftly replaced by semi-amused confusion. "Wh- wait, what? You've been in here for like a minute. I followed you in, you maniac!" she laughs, shaking her head, but I know she's laughing at me and not the situation. "Figured you may as well change into the other outfit while we're taking a break. Here, I've got it all ready for ya," she adds, tossing a small duffel bag to me. I finish wrapping my paw and pull it towards me, peeking inside.

"The hell is..." I mutter, pulling out a lightly-damaged tee shirt. "Powerwolf?" I groan, wadding it up. "Damnit... not a fan of Powerwolf. Didn't you have anything else?"

She blinks, in slight disbelief, and shrugs. "Iunno, I just figured... let's make him a metalhead. Right? Play up the stereotype."

"Yeah, that's one of my big issues with this whole thing. The playing to stereotypes part. Do you know how much Leonard has _already_ been bugging me about the shit we produce? 'Is this a good image to present to the public and the youth?' 'Is this the kind of thing you want to be known for?' 'Don't you realize this goes against our cause?'" I mock, half-assedly mimicking his voice. "Yeah, Leonard, I _do_. Do you think I want my drunken ass all over ZooTube? I don't, but we've started seeing ad money come in, and..." I sigh, burying my face in my paws. "I need _any_ fucking money I can get. Insurance on this thing isn't fucking cheap."

"...Wow. I thought you were just in a twist about the Powerwolf shirt."

I paw through the bag again. Slightly-torn pants, stained in spots, holes worn in the legs... at least it's not another bedazzled banana hammock. "It's not that I dislike their music, I just don't like the imagery and the overt religious themes."

She laughs again. "Right, you're some kind of pagan, I forgot that."

I grimace slightly. "Yeah, well... culturally. Nobody really believes that stuff, it's just an excuse to get extra drunk every month or so. Look away, I'm gonna change."

"Look away? Dude, I've seen your di- wait a minute, are you going commando in my shit?!"

"What's it to you?! And yeah, you've seen it, but after last time you touched it you've lost your wiener privileges! Avert thy gaze, trollop!"

 

As boring as the sitting around was, the Beest scenes are their own kind of difficult. At least I'm moving around; throwing garbage on the ground, vandalizing storefronts, chasing wildlife... but I'm not allowed to see what the fuck I'm doing. It seems that since Mr. Best was wearing glasses, Mr. Beest _can't_. Because I guess real life is Superram now, and if I wore the glasses the characters would look 'too similar.' Nevermind that they're being played by the same fucking actor, with an obvious and uncommon pelt color, they've got to look as different as we can make them!

Chet looks over some notes and stuffs them back into the pocket of his almost-uniform, making sure we're on schedule. _Schedule_. As though we're doing something important! ...Well, I guess it is kind of important not to be arrested, charged, and deported. But the least they could do is let me wear my fucking glasses! "All right, Reese, for this one you're gonna run out of this door and Norm's gonna get you with the net." Goddamnit. I've gotten tangled in that thing every time they've used it, and the ZPD doesn't even _use_  pawheld nets! But Audie just HAD to pull it out of the van and give them the idea. Goddamnit.

I look around myself, occasionally lifting my glasses from my eyes to try to familiarize myself with my immediate surroundings. "Okay. Is this the last one? I don't know if I need to remind you, but I'm in quite a bit of pain over here." I know full well he intends to post a blooper reel. He can't _not_ use that footage; it's too funny not to, he'd say. Every clip of me tripping, falling off curbs, or running face-first into things is going to find its way onto ZooTube. I've accepted that. But for each clip I'm gonna make this fucker buy me dinner.

"Almost. We've got one more after this, where you'll be snatching Audie's purse." Great. We've moved onto shoplifting and petty theft, I guess. Do we really need to make videos telling folks not to steal? "After that, yes, you can keep your glasses on, all right? Or get with the times and get some contacts."

"I fucking _told_ you I'm not getting contacts. The glasses cost me too much already!" That, and I don't like the idea of contact lenses. Just the thought of putting something in my eyes makes me shudder. I have enough trouble with eye drops, even thinking about it is making me uncomfortable. "Okay, in here, right?" I step towards the door to the Embryo, one paw outstretched to avoid banging my nose against glass again. I've never had so many nosebleeds in one day.

"Yeah. Just grab something you can carry and run out when I say to, and Norm will be waiting with the net." I nod, holding my glasses in front of me as I look for something easy to steal. Shit. Everything near the door at my level is stuff either nobody would steal or nobody would get arrested for. Shit like lighters, matches, pipe cleaners... hang on, here are some CDs. I move closer, curious to see what albums are available. Ha, as if it even matters! I'm pretend-stealing this shit, after all. But still, I don't need to fake-steal garbage. Huh, a Police collection? That'll do. I pull it off the rack and clutch it under one arm as I pocket my glasses, cursing the fact that MiniDisc never took off.

Chet calls to me and I turn towards the door, sprinting out onto the sidewalk and making a break for it. I make it a few meters before Norm slams the net down around me, causing me once again to trip, fall down, and smash my fucking face on the sidewalk. "GODDAMNIT NORM, I SAID _SCOOP!_ " I cry, pressing my bandaged paw against my nose. "MOTHER FUCKER!"

Norm lifts me out of the net and tries to calm me down, apologizing for yet another impact. "Man, I told you I don't know how to use a net! Last time I scooped I hit you like a badminton birdie, was that any fuckin' better?"

"It's... I told you how to do it! Bring it down over me, twist the handle, and flick it up! It's a simple goddamn motion, I don't understand how you can't-"

Chet arrives, interrupting me with an offer of an ice cube wrapped in a paper towel. "Hey man, it's all right. We all know you're getting the shitty part of this deal, and we admire that you're actually still going at it. You know what? After this next one, let's all go out for dinner. I'm paying."

I open an eye to stare back at him. "You're going to regret that."

 

The restaurant I've chosen is small, traditional, and very hard to find. Ever since Norm introduced me to sushi I've been doing my own research and I've found that if you want the real thing, you can't go to the popular places. You stay away from the trendy spots all over town, away from the bar streets and the restaurant districts, and you walk - that's right, _walk_ \- down a narrow alley in the middle of downtown to Matsumoto's. The chef himself is a staunch traditionalist. As he tells me, he doesn't like what sushi is seen as out here. Folks see it as exotic, high-class stuff. Expensive, even. Not him. He's pretty hard to understand sometimes, but he says sushi - and sashimi, which I greatly prefer - are common fare in his home. We've had a few laughs over my opinions on seaweed, as well.

Chet looks over the menu, still in costume, and breathes a sigh of relief. "Man, when you said you wanted sushi, I was worried, I'm not gonna lie. How's it so affordable here? This guy doesn't use bad fish, does he?"

I look to Matsumoto, worried, and back to Chet. "Dude, I'd be careful saying that. I've seen him throw knives at someone who insulted his food, and he doesn't miss twice. But no, take it from me, this is the best fish you'll find. The guy buys it all himself, and the way he keeps prices down is he doesn't advertise and he doesn't pay a lot for the space. So what you get is the real thing at close to the real price."

He looks impressed as he glances around the tiny shop. "Well, all right, then. I'll have to remember how we got here."

"Good. But I'm not making this cheap on you, I'm getting the fucking _fugu_."

I see them all look around, look at their menus, and shrug to each other. Billie's the first to speak. "You're getting what? I don't see that on the menu, is it any good?"

I turn to Matsumoto as he approaches me with a clipboard and a pen, and I sign the sheet he's brought. "I don't really know, I've never had it before. But this seems like a good time to try."

Harry makes a connection. "Oh! Wait, dude, that's not the fucking pufferfish, is it?"

"You're goddamn _right_ it is."

"Dude, no! Are you fucking nuts? You're gonna eat that poisonous shit?!" I feel the rest of the table become overwhelmed with concern, but I shake it off. "Reese, you can't risk that! You've got... uh..." I watch as Harry thinks of all the things in my life worth living for. "You've got, uh, friends!"

I shrug. "If I thought it was gonna kill me, I wouldn't have signed the waiver." The tanuki chef turns away from me with a polite bow and heads behind the counter, disappearing into a walk-in refrigerator. I've asked him about this shit before, and he's legit. Dude's got a license and everything. I mean, not that it's valid _here,_  but he knows what he's doing, and I knew who to put him in touch with to get illegal fish into the city. Sometimes I like my job.

Food is served all around and the conversation flows like the sake in our cups. (Turns out rice is good for something after all.) With our bellies full of fish and the meal complete, Audie looks to me with a curious gaze. "So... you're not dead, I guess. Was it good?"

I blink. "Was it good? It was _better_ than good. My fucking _face_ is numb now, I didn't even know it could do that!" I laugh, much to everyone else's relief. They'd be sad if I was dead. I wouldn't be... don't get me wrong, I don't _want_ to die, but if I died I wouldn't feel sad. I also wouldn't feel happy or angry, because I'd be fucking dead. But I do feel happy right now, because I've had a good meal with my friends, and because for once my meal cost as much as Norm's. Chet doesn't feel too good about that. I'll call it a down-payment on my revenge.

Harry looks over his shoulder towards the back of the establishment, staring at something for probably the tenth time since we arrived. "Hey, Reese."

"Huh?" I reply, rapidly approaching drunkenness as I refill my cup.

"They use that karaoke machine?"

"Fuck _yeah_ they do. Are you kidding me? Japan _invented_ karaoke."

"...I got an idea for a quick video, dude. You up for it?"

I grin and stumble towards the machine, turning it on as Matsumoto hits the lights. "What're you thinking, Harry? Some shit like on Retsuko?"

"Nah, dude," he laughs, punching in a selection. "I wanna see you sing Psycho Killer, but like a savage. Think you can do that?"

" _Pff_. Can sheep follow blindly?" I answer, tapping my foot as the bassline begins.


	43. What's The Deal With Cruise Line Food?!

"It's early morning in a crappy, icicle-crusted bar just inside Tundratown. I'm twenty-four minutes and six shots of Rumple Minze into a half-hour set, I can't feel my paws or my feet, and I've never felt more at home. I think all that's missing are some of my inbred cousins chasing me off the stage to throw me off another cliff."

The crowd laughs, and I realize all too late that I said that out loud. "Uh, you guys weren't supposed to hear that, but thanks for laughing. And no offense to the proprietor, I happen to _like_ a place that shows a little wear. Anyway, let's talk about... yeah, let's talk about drugs. Anybody here like drugs? Raise a paw. Raise a- TRICK QUESTION. I see a lot of you didn't raise your paw, but the other one's holding alcohol, you liars! I'm disappointed in you. Alcohol's a drug, too, and just because it's legal doesn't change that. Tobacco, too. I'm quite a fan of both of them myself, so don't think I'm here to-" I have to pause to stifle a laugh, nearly snorting at my own thoughts. "I'm one of the drunkest fuckers in here, how would I pass judgment on _any_ of you? Maybe on the fox in the back for not drinking enough."

Another smattering of laughter, which I let die before I continue. "I hope I'm not upsetting anyone when I admit that I've tried a lot of drugs. But I'm young, I mean, that's what you're _supposed_ to do at my age, isn't it? Right? And I gotta say, overall, I'm not that big a fan. I'm into drinking and smoking, as I've already said, and I like nip. I'd say I _love_ nip, but I can't do anything when I'm on it, so that... it doesn't help me do this the way that alcohol and tobacco do. But there's other shit that I will not fucking touch. Anyone ever huff paint?" A few chuckles from the audience. "Oh my god, I cannot begin to tell you how much nobody should _ever_ do that. I tried it once because I was fifteen and bored, and that's when you do that. Nobody older than fifteen or who had a hobby has ever huffed paint, because it's fucking horrible and it doesn't get you high."

I take a sip of... okay, good, that's the water glass. "Other than alcohol and cigarettes, there really isn't anything to abuse where I grew up. There just isn't, it's too fucking remote. Everything has to be brought over on little- on fishing boats, basically, and when I got caught with that paint on my nose, my dad burned my ass bad enough that I almost forgot about the vomiting." Pause for laughter. Two of them enjoyed that. Not as bad as it sounds; this isn't really a comedy bar, but at least they're paying me. "Then I left home for college, and I did... fucking nothing. I was a super fucking theater fag, being as artistic as I could be, smoking cigarettes and pretending to like absinthe. Side note, FUCK absinthe! It doesn't make you _hallucinate_ , it just makes you drunk and costs more than regular shit!"

I clear my throat. "But back to the drugs. When I came here, finally, to seek the fame that has obviously showered me with wealth and good fortune, I did what every wannabe actor and writer does: I got a job in a restaurant. And just in case you didn't know... if you ever go to a restaurant in this city, there is a good chance that your waiter and everyone else in there are out of their fucking _minds_ on coke. Did you not know that? No? Well next time you go - and I don't mean Bug Burga, they're all on nip - go into any restaurant where the utensils are made of real metal, and just watch the wait staff. I promise you they'll be twitching. I tried coke once at my first job here, and holy shit, I am so glad that shit is fucking illegal. It felt _too_ good. I felt great, I was doing my job fucking flawlessly without tiring, but there's a cost. For me, that cost was freaking out on a diner who didn't know what they FUCKING WANTED."

I take another pause for some water. I'm gonna feel like shit tonight, I know, but at least I don't have to worry about getting picked up for drunk driving. Why would I drive drunk? I get into my van, I'm already home! They can't arrest you for being drunk at _home_. ...I think. "Other than that, I've tried mushrooms and acid, and I'm never touching another psychedelic for as long as I live. Anyone ever done those? Shrooms or acid? Yeah? Did your trip end with you biting a fucking duck's head off, or stabbing a swan with a pointed stick? No? Well I'm not gonna confirm that mine _did_ , but I'm never fucking doing either of those again."

 

The creature jerks awake, digging out of the pile of blankets it had buried itself under amid the previous morning's drunken haze. It is not yet sentient. It is too groggy for such things as complex thought, much less _words_. Its mind and body are operating on the backup system of vague impressions, and those impressions scream like Frankenstein's monster, "HEAD... HURT! HEAD HURT!" The beast cries out in pain, unable to articulate itself like the mammals of which it is only a hideous imitation. The red-pelted animal staggers across the inside of the van and smells its way to a plastic shopping bag, reaching desperately for the treasure stored within. Ibuprofen. Clam juice.

I blink slowly, looking around me at the boxes of books, the scattered laundry, and the piles of old fishing gear. I taste... clams. What's in my paw? Oh, clam juice. My brain must have finally built up a head of steam. My glasses... where are my glasses? I hope I didn't leave them in a pocket. I bend down to pat my hips, finding not only no glasses, but no goddamn _pants_ , either. Oh, that's right. I forgot that I don't sleep in clothes, silly me! Well... I do when I pass out, but I'm trying to do that a lot less often, and I think I'm making progress to that end. Now I just have to find where I left my clothes, because my glasses should be nearby.

I slide off the box I've been using as a seat and feel something break beneath one of my feet. Oh no. Oh fuck no. If that's what I think it might have been... I reach down, digging past a discarded shirt or two and find nothing but a broken ballpoint pen. Oh thank the gods! I was afraid I'd broken- son of a bitch, now there's ink all over my fucking paw! At least that _shirt_ was black to begin with. Goddamnit!

The loud blare of a foghorn alerts me to an incoming call. Probably another fucking robot... I've been getting all kinds of spam calls, some of them in Chinese or something. No fucking clue what that's about. I gather up my phone from the pants I kicked off this morning and squint at the screen, thinking to myself how easy it would be to get rid of the goddamn thing if only modern life didn't fucking require such a device. Feb... Fedor? Why the hell is he calling me at this time of- wait. I don't even know what time it is. I squint harder, trying to make out the time. That early?! Fuck, I didn't think my head hurt so much I'd crawl out of bed at _this_ hour.

...I should probably answer him. I poke the green blob, or close enough to it, and hold the phone to my ear. "Fedor, is there a good reason you're calling me in the middle of the day?"

Fedor sounds different, somehow. Like he's been sapped of his strength, or as if he's been laid low by someone or something bigger than his self-image. "Yes. I need favor." Wait. He needs a favor? "Can you come to Tundratown Wharf in one hour?"

Tundratown Wharf? I think I'm near Blizzard Street, so that's not too far, and unless there's a lunch rush I can probably manage- HEY WAIT A MINUTE. "Hang on. If you think I'm helping you break into another warehouse, steal a pallet of fish, or _whatever else_ you've got planned that could get me-"

"NO, no, is not like that! Please, will be good for you. Even comes with pay!" He sounds nervous. That scares me, because Fedor is a pretty terrifying guy to begin with, so whoever or whatever is stressing him could probably kill me and not even notice. But he says there's money...

"How much are we talking?"

"Ehhh, I have..." I hear some rustling. "Hundred forty-six dollar. But is more! all kinds of things to eat here, you get full plate!"

"I'll be there in thirty minutes." Wait, did I say that or did my stomach?

"Good! Park in front of Hansen Wholesale, come to Wharf Convention Center. I meet you there." I sigh as he hangs up, wondering what I've agreed to. Free food and nearly a hundred fifty ducks? The only thing that could make this more enticing would probably be a blowjob or something. I chuckle at the thought. I _am_ just an animal, after all.

 

I arrive at the wharf and see a banner draped across one of the nicer warehouses, declaring it to be the convention center. Not something I'm used to seeing. Most times I've been in a warehouse they didn't exactly advertise what was going on inside, because that much fun is illegal. The police eventually show up to those parties yelling things like 'trespassing' and 'everybody on the floor.' This doesn't look like one of those parties, and just as well, too. Those events aren't catered, and I'm hungry.

I approach the door and note a sign beside it. 'Zootopia Fishers' Union Annual Ball.' Weird, I didn't know fishermen had ba- nope, not gonna finish that thought. I used to be a fisherman and I _definitely_ have those. I bite my tongue, stifling a cheap laugh at the obvious wordplay. Now I'm wondering just what the hell had Fedor fretting so much; does he owe someone money? Did he make a bet and lose? That motherfucker had better not have bet _me_ on anything. Before I can think of further situations for which I'd hate him, the door bursts open in front of me and a large, brown paw snatches me off my feet.

"I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL BITE YOUR ARM OFF MOTHERFUCKER, I'M FUCKING CRAZY!" I screech, flailing impotently.

"Shaddap," Fedor grunts, plopping me on my feet. "Okay. You here. Are you ready to put on show?"

I blink, staring back at him as several thoughts try all at once to cram themselves stooge-like through my brain. Going by previous occasions, Fedor plus warehouse equals drainpipe, Fedor plus money equals boredom, and Fedor plus party equals clown. Now, I've never been good at math, but something tells me I'm about to get fucked and not in the fun way that rarely happens to me. "You expect me to put on a show? Okay, this may be a surprise for you to hear, but I am not your personal fucking clown. You can take your plate AND your money, and shove them up your fat, arthritic a-"

" _Comedy_ show! Like you do on own time!" His tone is both urgent and explanatory, while almost masking the buried hostility he feels toward my previous statement. He'll probably make me pay for that one. "Look. I was put in charge of entertainment this year, and fucker I had booked took advance and ditched town. I get money back soon enough, get fucker brought back to explain self..." he trails off, malice in his eyes, then waves a paw dismissively. "But for today," he sighs, "I need act, and you only one I can get on short notice. So do you want gig, or should I throw you in freezer crate bound for Meowmi?"

Oh fuck, that sounds horrible... even if I survived the trip, I'd be in _Meowmi_. It's hot as fuck down there! That kind of heat does terrible things to mammals' brains. Even if I avoided the rampant alligators and the insane, swamp-hillbilly locals, I'd surely die a slow death from the temperature. "Wait, wait... so you actually brought me here to do a standup set?" He nods, obviously agitated that I seem to just now understand what he wants. "Okay. So why, uh, didn't you fucking ask me _first_ instead of booking some other fuck, since you actually know me and could have approached me at any fucking time since I've been working for you?!"

He shrugs. "I didn't know if you any good. Still don't, but hedging bets, since I need fishermen to like me. No entertainment, no business!" Aha. So _that's_ what this is. He needs to stay on these folks' good side or he'll have to pay wholesale prices for his stock, and that would mean lower profits. Shit, that might mean he couldn't afford to pay _me_ , which concerns me a hell of a lot more than his greed.

"Yeah... all right, fine. But I want the money now and a plate waiting for me when I'm done." He nods, pulling out a wad of bills and dropping it into my waiting paws before leading me to the makeshift stage. I look out over a sea of faces, larger by an order of magnitude than any crowd I've ever stood in front of alone, and a shiver runs up my spine. Don't choke... don't freak out... and whatever you do, don't _pee!_ I take a deep breath and search my aching, sleep-deprived brain for an opening bit. "Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, my name is Reese, and I thought I'd be asleep right now." A very quiet chuckle ripples through the crowd. "I have to say it feels strange to be here, but in kind of... almost a familiar sort of way. I actually grew up in a little fishing village, and..."

 

I exit the warehouse-cum-convention center, laughing, with my belly full near to bursting with crab legs and fish filets. I can't remember the last time I felt this good! I've never had a show go so well. When my fifteen minutes ended they pushed me back up for another five... and another, and another. It's nothing I said, though, I'm certain of that; I don't know how much these bastards had to drink before I showed up, but I could probably have told knock-knock jokes and they'd have demanded an encore. I sigh as I settle into my van, high on endorphins instead of nip or alcohol for the first time in years. You know what, I don't actually feel like being alone right now, as strange as that sounds. I think I'll go kick Harry's ass out of bed for some celebration.

I climb up to the helm and turn the key, smiling as the engine clatters to life. I let it warm up for a few minutes before heading off, and set course for one of the main highways. ...Shit, I can't wait that long. I'm gonna call him! With one paw firmly on the wheel, I fish through my pocket for my phone, nervously glancing back and forth as I try to find his number and not crash. Done! I'll just put that on speaker and tuck it in my shirt pocket. Perfect. I return both my paws to the wheel, gripping the pins eagerly as the ringing from my pocket continues.

The ringing stops and I hear a tired grumble. "What's up?"

"DUDE! You're not gonna believe what the fuck just happened. I'm on my way over there now from Tundratown, give me a half-hour tops and I'll be there to celebrate."

I can sense his surprise even before he speaks. "Shit, man, that's fuckin' awesome! Must be pretty sweet if you're awake at six PM, I'll break out the special stash and not my usual wake-and-bake. If you're this excited, it's probably worth it, 'cuz I don't know if you've _noticed_ , but you're kinda really hard to put in an actual good mood."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, you know, I was picking up a little bit of a pattern there..."

He laughs. "Seriously, dude, I'm fucking thrilled for you right now. Why don't you tell me about it while we're both sober, so we can save time and get to the party quicker?"

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Dude, for a stoner, I'd really have thought you'd be more patient than you are. But fuck it, I _want_ to tell. Pull up a chair and shut up your mouth, I'm gonna tell you about the best show I've ever had."

"Nice! Who the hell booked you for a show in the goddamn afternoon?"

"I'm gettin' to it! Shit, man, lemme take a breath, would ya? All right, so I'm woken up by my head fucking killing me. Hangover from last night, peppermint schnapps, you know how that shit goes. Out of nowhere my boss calls me, and he needs a favor."

"Well _that_ doesn't sound fuckin' shifty."

"Right? I'm thinking he needs me to crawl through another pipe and break into someplace again, steal some shit, but no. He says it's not like that at all and it's a paying gig. Offers me almost a hundred fifty and a plate of food, so I jumped on it. I was fuckin' hungry."

"Shit, dude, you've done shows for just food before, what the hell was so important?"

"Fishermen's union was having a goddamn once-a-year party, that's what. He was in charge of entertainment, and whoever he booked first took his advance and fucking skipped town."

Harry scoffs. "Why didn't he call you first?"

"I know, right?! Motherfucker said he didn't know if I was any good. I mean, I'm really not, at least if you ask _me_ , but I'm good enough for a warehouse full of drunk fucking sailors. Shit, he could have put up a cardboard cutout and played a bunch of Weird Al Yakovik and gotten a standing ovation But do you know what I did?"

"From how you sound, dude, I'm guessing you fucking killed. What bits did you do?"

"That's the best part! I didn't prepare _shit_. I just told jokes about boats and fish for half an hour, and they fucking loved it!"

Harry laughs. "Goddamn, if there's anyone who could tell jokes about fuckin' fish, dude, it's you! Are they gonna have you back?"

I shrug, even though Harry's not actually here to see it. "Hell, I don't know. I fucking hope so, but that'd be a year away. I definitely think I'll be using some of those jokes again though, now that I realize there are probably sailors' bars all over the fucking shore in this city. I mean, I don't want to pigeonhole myself into just jokes about fish and boats, but if I can stick my foot into a niche that nobody's in, it can't hurt my income!"

"That's the way you fuckin' do it, man! How far away are you now?"

"Well I'm almost into the Rainforest District, I should probably be **CHAAAIR!!** "

I feel my blood run cold. The world around me slows down, the cars on either side of me - blocking any escape I may have had - crawling along the elevated highway at a snail's pace. Do I swerve anyway? No, I don't have good enough coverage, I'm sure. I can't afford whatever repairs and medical bills I may inflict on another driver! Fuck. Shit, I'm fucked. I'm FUCKED! Moving at the same impotently-slow pace as everything else in the world, I slam the throttle shut and kick the shift lever, knocking the transmission out of gear. The brake. _The brake!_ I turn and leap for the lever, scrambling, putting all my strength and whatever extra I can muster into a desperate dash for the brake. I grip the lever and heave it forward as the low, wailing cries of rubber on asphalt begin to sing a mournful chorus.

I catch myself and stand beside the wheel, slowly recognizing that there is no escape. There is no avoiding this. I grit my teeth and stare into the plush abyss. Heavy steel frame. Real wood trim. Thick, firm padding swaddled in the finest cloth money can buy. I swallow, my throat dry from horror as I behold the instrument of my destruction. _La-Z-Bull_. Big one. I can't hear Harry; I don't hear anything, really, as the world goes quiet, but he can hear. He hears the crunch of steel and aluminum as it impacts upholstery, and he hears the crash of glass as I fly through the windshield like a dart towards the high-speed embrace of foam and fabric.


	44. A Farewell to Armchairs

I pry my head from between the folds of my supple captor and fall onto what remains of its seat cushion. "WHERE'S MY SHOE?" I cry, disoriented, with my glasses hanging halfway off my face. "WHERE'S MY SHOE?" I roll onto my side and look at my feet which are, unsurprisingly, shoeless. My hearing returns, slowly, and I'm suddenly aware of panicked questions issuing forth from the phone lying beside me. I know this voice. I pick up the phone and stare at it in my confusion. "I'm in trouble," I say to the fellow on the other end of the line, who seems almost relieved at my vague declaration.

"Dude, just stay there, calm down, I'm sure someone's already called for help, I'm gonna go get Norm and we're gonna find you. Okay?"

I blink. "O-okay." The call ends, probably so my friend can call this Norm character.

"Are you hurt?" someone asks. I look up to see a concerned citizen on the scene, looking down at me with her phone to her ear.

I blink, replacing my glasses onto my face. I loko at my feet, my paws, my tail... I think I'm all here. "I don't think so."

"He doesn't think so," she says, looking away for a second, before looking back at me. "The police are coming. They'll bring an ambulance too, can you stand?" I dig my claws into the backrest beside me and pull myself to my feet, nodding to my ersatz-valkyrie, dressed not in armor but in a pencil skirt and tasteful jacket. The nice gnu lady breathes an apparent sigh of relief as she excuses herself, leaving me alone for a moment to gather up what's happened. Okay, so I'm out in the open, the sun is out, and everything smells like... like diesel fuel.

I look away from the backrest I've propped myself against and stare for several long seconds at the mass of blue-gray sheetmetal that looks oddly familiar. It dawns on me that I've never seen my van from this angle; the scale seems off, because while it looks very big from up close, it doesn't look as tall from this height. It's smashed into what can only be a very large armchair. Large enough that it wouldn't fit inside the damn van, and for it to have done this much damage, it must be built for asses the size of- HOLY FUCK, MY FUCKING VAN!

I leap from the chair, forgetting for the moment that I'm IN THE MIDDLE OF TRAFFIC, and dodge out of some asshole's way. Fuck whoever that is! Can't they see I'm having a crisis?! I look up at the wreckage of what has been my home for over a year as horror sets in. The bumper's pushed back to the wheels. The front axle's been shoved back. So many parts of it I don't have the knowledge to even _name_ have surely been bent, broken, and destroyed. And I don't have good insurance... it'd be better for me, financially, for them to total it. My van. My ship. My _home_. I turn my gaze to the furniture that has destroyed me, itself looking relatively pristine due to its sturdy construction. I look ahead and see an empty lane.

Whoever's chair this is, they didn't stick around, if they even noticed its loss. I feel a hot, searing rage rise in my belly. This is their fault. They could have prevented this if they'd tied down their goddamn chair! When I find out whose this is, I'm going to maim them just as they've done to me! Only moments ago I could have run a van into them, but that option's gone. Whoever, whatever they are, THEY WILL PAY. I'll rip their fucking trunk off! I'll pull their fucking horn out of its socket! Whatever creature requires such a chair, be they elephant or rhinoceros, I don't care, they will learn firsthand the bloody wrath of a BERSERKER'S RAGE!

...No. I stop myself, shaking my head. I'm not a fucking berserker, historians aren't even sure they _existed_. And even if they did, I'm neither a bear, a wolf, nor a boar. I'm a... fuck, I've opened old wounds again. I turn my thoughts from that path and look elsewhere... the bear hunters! No. The stories passed down to me of crazy, bear-fighting mink are tales of sacrifice, not revenge, and they had numbers on their side. My story has none of that. I sigh, thinking of what I've got in the way of backup or weapons. I've got a bunch of comic friends, basically nerds with no fighting ability, and a vanload of books and old fishing equipment. ...Hm. I _do_ have a harpoon launcher, but it's too large to conceal.

I don't have much time to think on this before I notice the sirens. They've been quiet so far, but they've steadily grown in volume until they can't be ignored. Two police cruisers and an ambulance. FUCK! I can't afford an ambulance ride! I probably can't afford an ambulance _checkup!_ "I'M FINE! No need to come closer!" I shout, waving my paws above my head at the EMTs. They're not stopping. Shit, they're not stopping! "I DON'T HAVE INSURANCE! I'M FINE!" Fuck, they're in the zone or something. Do folks still say that? Before I can argue the point further, I'm whisked off my feet and onto a cushion in the back of their meatwagon.

 

The grizzly turns to the officer as she makes notes on a clipboard. "Well, he's a little banged up, but nothing serious. Lucky he went right through the windshield and into the backrest, or there could have been some serious injuries."

Officer zebra, I don't care what his name is, nods. "Yeah, the witness says he was a bit confused, but he stood up on his own. I think we've got it from here, unless you're worried about a concussion."

She shakes her head. "I've given him some instructions, a number to call if he feels worse, but I'm not too worried. I think you've got it from here." She turns and gets back into the ambulance, rushing off with her partner to some other poor victim.

The officer turns to look at me, slouched on the rear bumper of my van, and cocks his head. "Are you gonna start screaming again?" I sneer, but I keep my mouth shut. "Good. All right, well, we don't have anything to go on yet regarding the owner of that chair, but I'm gonna need to know how you got this thing to pass inspection."

I take a deep breath. "I didn't have a problem registering it anywhere else. I already told you that."

"Uh-huh. And the part where it's got no seat belts?"

"It's _older_ than seat belts! You can't require seat belts on something that never came with them! And how would I use a freaking seat belt? It's piloted from a standing position, there's no-"

"That's another thing I wanted to ask you about. How is that supposed to be safe? These safety laws exist for a reason, you know, and we take them pretty seriously here."

"You'd have to ask my grandfather. He's the one who built all that."

"So what you're saying is that it's an old, unsafe vehicle with illegal modifications?"

"Why am _I_ the one being interrogated?! I'm the fucking _victim_ here, you son of a-"

The officer's partner approaches. "Hey Matt, I think that tow's almost here. You done looking up the guy's license and reg?"

"'The guy?' I'm right fucking here, and _yes_ you're partner's done, now make him give me back my shit!" I shriek, glaring at the officers.

The leopard pulls his head back. "Jeez Louise, what's _his_ problem?" he asks, shaking his head as he looks back to his partner.

"Nothin' out of the ordinary. You never hear about weasels having a short fuse? There's stereotypes out there that run towards truth, you'll see more as you stay in the job."

_I'm not a weasel, you fucking ASS_ , is what I'd dearly like to say right now, but quasi-specist epithets toward police usually end with lost or broken teeth in this town. "I'm not a weasel, damnit."

The zebra rolls his eyes, looking at my license again. "Yeah, well, all this says is H, so unless _that's_ a real species, you're a weasel for now." I so want to rip this prison donkey's fucking ears off his head. I know _exactly_ what he meant by that. Fucking hybrid-phobic son of a...

My hostile train of thought is cut short by the arrival of a flatbed tow truck, emblazoned with the symbol of the ZPD. It pulls to a stop just ahead of the accident scene and two... I don't care what the fuck they are. They have hooves and weird beards and they're taking pictures of the whole thing as Norm's tiny, cheap hatchback screeches to a halt just behind us.

"Sir, get back in your car and move along, there's nothing to see here!" the zebra brays, waving agitatedly at my friends.

"Hey, nah, we- we're just here to pick him up, is that okay?" Norm explains, raising his paws slightly.

The zebra looks between Norm and me, appearing more tired than frustrated, and shrugs. "Yeah, we've got what we need, and he's got what he needs from us. You got a safety seat for him in there?"

"Well, it's my nephew's booster seat, but it works." The officer lets loose an amused snort and returns to his cruiser, waving Harry and Norm over my way. "Shit, mammal, what happened?"

"What happened? This fucking CITY happened! Where the hell else would some oversized asshole just _drop_  a ten-ton chair on the back of a trailer and think it was good to go? When they find this motherfucker they'd better have him under fucking protection, because where I come from the penalty for burning another man's ship is _death!_ " Harry and Norm eye each other, obviously confused. I forget sometimes that I come from the dark ages. "I mean... ugh. There's a clear legal precedent established through the sagas, and this is a clear case of negligent destruction of property. Sure, it's a van instead of a ship- hell, I live in it, so the case could be argued up to home destruction! That takes it from two to _five_ pounds of silver in restitution, or I could challenge him to holmgang, spill his blood, and take everything the fucker owns!"

Harry puts his paws on my shoulders, trying to calm me down. "Reese! Bro! You're fucking insane. Let's get you somewhere nicer than this, all right? Maybe have some drinks, a little jazz cabbage... but we should probably get you to a clinic first, make sure nothing's rattled loose upstairs, huh?"

I groan. "The ambulance left, they said I'm _fine_. Just... let me grab some things before they run off with my van and we can go."

 

Norm's apartment seems even bigger with just the three of us here instead of the whole group. I was able to get a lot more of my belongings, since Norm's so much bigger, but there's still too much I couldn't get out, and it's weighing on me. I don't know when I'll see any of it again, if they even let me! It's my goddamn property, they'd better let me get the rest of it. All I've got is a yellow slip of paper with my name, some information, and the location of the impound lot. Fucking small comfort that is. I release another low, growling sigh and Harry looks to me. "Dude. You wanna do anything? We could help you get your mind off it if you let us, you know that. We could watch something, we could put on some music, we could get high... we could do all that and more, man."

"Not yet. I'm still too angry."

"Bro, you're _way_ too angry. I mean, like, a lot of the time. Don't you think that might be bad for your health? That kind of constant stress has physiological effects, and they can be really damaging." Damn. I keep forgetting he dropped out of med school or something. I know full well he has a valid point, but I'm not in the mood for logic and reason.

"Being angry is my thing, okay? Can I have this for right now?"

Norm exhales a cloud of smoke. It's his place, and if he wants to smoke without us, that's his right. "Man, Harry's right, dude. You at the clinic now, okay, and Doctor Harry is just tryna cure what ails you."

I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. "What're you, his nurse? I don't want to be _helped_ right this minute unless you can get me the name and address of the fucker whose chair I hit."

Norm doesn't seem to have listened to anything past the word 'nurse.' He's giggling uncontrollably now, repeating "Nurse Norm, Nurse Norm! Pagin' Doctor Harry to the livin' room, stat!" There's humor to it, I admit, but not enough to lighten my mood any.

Harry pats me on the back. "It'll be okay, bro. Even if it takes a little while, you've got us to hang with, right? You can crash at any of our places - well, except you can't sleep at my place. My landlord went fucking psycho about overday guests recently. Not because of you or anything, there was some asshole on the fourth floor who turned out to be cooking _hard_ shit in his buddy's apartment. But you've got friends to help you out, man."

I sigh for approximately the seven hundred and forty-sixth time since arriving here. "Fuck. At least I got the important shit out."

Norm coughs, pounding his chest with a fist. "I was gonna ask you about that, man... why you have a damn sack of dry fish?"

Harry laughs. "Dude, you know Reese! He's from a faraway land whose customs are different from our own. If he doesn't eat fish at every meal, he'll wither and blow away in the wind!" I turn my head slowly to look - nay, stare - at Harry. "Oh come on, bro, lighten up a little," he teases. "You're like Popeye with that shit. Sometimes I expect to see you pull an anchovy out of your pocket and punch Bluto into another cartoon."

I shake my head. "And you think _I'm_ crazy?"

"Yeah, dude, I don't bring up shit like pounds of silver or duels to the death in serious conversation!" he laughs. "I swear to god, if I didn't _actually know_ you, there's a pretty good chance I'd think you were a crazy hobo who argues with trash cans and chases folks screaming about dragons."

"Fucking... don't get me started about that shit again."

"Dude, I know, I know. Modern fantasy is garbage and they're robbing the graves of your ancestors to make a few dollars. I still don't understand how you think those stories belong to you specifically."

"Because the other fuckers caved in and converted! They can have their goddamn Bible stories if they like them so much, the sagas belong to us heathen fucks who said 'fuck you, we'd rather live with trolls!'"

Harry shakes his head. "Man, you got some weird fuckin' opinions."

" _Fight_ me!"

"Dude... no. Have some nip. Calm your ass."

 

I don't know how long we've been smoking. I still feel angry, but I feel more like just lying here and watching the ceiling fan. How big do they make these things? "Harry?"

Harry rolls his head to the side, pointing his face kind of in my direction. "Yeah?"

"How's wind work?"

He hums, thinking about it. "Air pressure, bro."

"Are we sure?"

"Iunno. Pretty sure. The weather guy on tv would be wronger if we weren't."

"Look at the fan, dude."

"What about it?"

"What if the wind just comes from fans? But like, big ones?"

"Nah. We'd've seen 'em."

"What if they're hidden?"

"How big a fan you think, dude? They'd have to be real big or there'd have to be a lot of 'em."

"They could hide them in the trees. Trees are big."

"...Yeah, I guess."

"And in the mountains. They're even bigger."

Norm interjects. "Nah. Nah, it ain't like that."

I look over at him, confused. "What?"

"You ever see trees move in the wind?"

"Yeah."

"Man, what if we thinkin' about it all wrong? What if the trees ain't _movin'_ in the wind, the trees movin' is _makin'_ the wind?"

"Dude, fuck, are you real right now?."

Harry grunts. "I still think it's air pressure, man."

There's a light knock at the door, and all of us pick our heads up to look. I paddle backwards on the couch, propping myself against the backrest to appear sober. That works, right? Sober folks sit up straight. Everyone knows that. "Hey, Norm? Who's there?"

"Man, I don't know. Harry, did we order anythin'?"

Harry rubs his belly. "Dude, I don't know, but I fucking _hope_ we did."

The knock at the door repeats a bit louder. It's joined this time by an insistent, nasal plea for entry. "You guys! I know you're in there, open up or I'm taking the pizza back!"

PIZZA?! The three of us look at each other and scramble from our seats, racing each other for the door so we can be the first to stuff our faces with cheap, greasy deliciousness. Unfortunately, there's not enough space between the contestants and a pileup occurs. I yelp in pain as Harry steps on my tail, stopping me in my tracks as my forward momentum translates itself into a downward thwap against the floor. Harry trips over me, voicing a shocked "Beuuh!" noise as he tumbles like a bag of beans, and finally Norm tries to halt his advance to avoid stepping on and likely squashing us like bugs. He unfortunately didn't expect to get as much traction as he did, and he somersaults over us, crying out in shock as he sails into a collision against the door.

Audie jumps, surprised by the sudden racket and loud THUD that break the near-complete silence in the hallway. She grunts softly and whacks a paw against the door once again. "Was that the couch? You'd better not be barricading the godda-" Her warning is cut short by the door opening slightly as the three of us poke our heads out, one on top of the other, turning quickly from her startled gaze to the pizza box she'd laboriously dragged up the stairs. "Hey. HEY! Eyes up here!" she barks, pointing two fingers to her face. "Nobody gets a _sliver_ of that pizza until you share the shit. Any questions?"

Harry and I turn our heads up to look at Norm, who turns his down, banging his chin against Harry's snout who, predictably, swears and turns his head back down where his own chin knocks me on the snout. Our joined swears and grumbles are drowned out by Audie's uncontrolled laughter as she rolls on the floor, clutching her sides. "OH FUCK, I'M GONNA DIE! IT'S LIKE THE THREE STOOGES BUT IT'S _REAL!_ "

 

The task of dividing a full-size pizza would be daunting to the least of us, but Norm puts a firm paw on the helm to save us the trouble. A couple slivers for Audie and me, about half a slice for Harry, and the rest - naturally - goes to the host. Not necessarily because he's the _host_ , but because he's obviously a goddamn _bear_ and he could probably swallow the rest of us whole. Everyone gets a fair portion according to their size. t's like a kid's show on sharing over here. Since he's a fair man, he won't let Audie say no as he pushes a wad of money on her, and since she's not an asshole, she just takes the six dollars it cost and gives him back the rest. Little Cheeser's isn't the best there is, but you can't fault them at the price. And they make it very easy for those of us who need to budget for things like nip.

With our bellies full and a little more evidence destroyed by burning (and subsequent inhalation), the lot of us take up comfortable positions and vegetate. Norm keeps looking at his paws, his face twisted in thought as though he's never fucking seen them in his life. "Yo... hey, how big are you, man?" he asks, looking at Harry.

"Huh? I could lose a few pounds, why? What's up?"

"I feel like... I feel like I could hold you with one paw. They so big. Look at that!" he exclaims, lethargically, as he holds a paw out and moves it to obscure Harry from his vision. "It's as big as you!"

Harry burps. "Bro. You've got some honkin' paws, but I think that's just an optical... uh, shit... an optical delusion or something. Look at this. I can like, I can put my paw here and just... squish your head," he laughs, bringing his thumb and forefinger close to one of his eyes and pinching them repeatedly. "I'm squishin' you, dude!"

Norm screams and laughs, rolling out of his chair to 'escape' Harry's grasp. He ends up on the floor, giggling in his infectious manner.

Audie breaks from her own giggling fit and looks past me on the couch to Harry. "Hey Hairball, I forgot to ask, what's the occasion tonight? You know _I_ don't need an occasion, but I figured there was one since you fucking woke me up to go get a pizza."

Harry blinks for a moment, trying to remember. "Oh, right! Reese had a shitty day. Well, it started off good, anyway, but it got real shitty towards the end."

Audie strokes my arm half-jokingly, cooing. "Ohh, _pobrecito!_ Get another shitty gig? Mace in the face? Check bounce?"

"No, he crashed his van."

She pulls her paw off my arm and swallows. "...Oh. I thought it was, uh, hmm. Yeah, that's a bummer."

I groan, covering my face with my paws. "Goddamnit Harry, I think I'd managed to forget about that for a minute! Fuck my life."

Harry tries to walk it back. "It's not all bad, bro! You had the best show of your life so far just before it. Things can only get better, right?" _So far_. Those two words are a deliberate addition, calculated to, what, give me hope? The best show of my life so far. I was thrilled with how it turned out, don't get me wrong, but I think I felt more proud after I became the first predator in my college's history to perform the title role in Ramlet. God, what am I _doing_ with my life? If I'd stayed in Shrewsbury, I could be on my way to joining the Royal Shakesheare Company. But no, I didn't want to wait to achieve modest fame. I wanted to make it _big_ , and you only do that in Zootopia, or so the media says.

"The show? Fuck the show! I could have made up words that rhyme with _penis_ and those drunk fuckers would have laughed. I'm fucking _homeless_ , dude. I could barely scrape together the money for insurance and diesel, much less enough to afford rent! Man..." I inhale deeply, sighing as mightily as my tiny lungs allow. "...Shit's fucked, Harry."

Audie looks around innocently. "Well... you need a place to crash?"

I'm quiet for a moment, feigning thought. "Yeah, I could use a roof and a couch. I met a lot of bums when I was living in the van, but I'm not _quite_ at that point yet."

She shrugs. "Billie's out of town for a while, traveling with her mom. I could use the company to make sure I don't go bananas."

Harry rolls his head lazily onto his shoulder, staring at me. He's got some goofy look on his face as if I don't realize a good offer when I hear it. "She's got a point, bro. Her place is closer to public transportation, and-"

I cut him off. I know what hospitality is, but I was raised with a lot of moron shit that I just can't seem to let go. I have trouble accepting it, at least initially, especially when it's something so significant as a place to live. Got to pretend like I'll be just fine, thank you for asking, the weather's not so bad this time of year and I'm just in a bit of a rough spot, shouldn't be longer than a day or two... Prideful, macho shit like that belongs in the past with butter churns, specism, and fax machines. "I don't need to be worried about, at least not by my friends. My parents can worry, though. They deserve it. I can take care of myself just fi-"

What goes around comes around. "There's a pool," Audie interrupts, offering a quick shrug.

Fuck it. I'm sold.


	45. The Zone of Friendliness

I follow Audie down the hall, watching as she fumbles for her key and opens the small door set into the larger, main door to the apartment she shares with Billie. I move to follow her in, but my addled brain hits a snag and I stop before I cross the threshold. She looks over her shoulder, having expected to hear the door, and stares at me for a moment. "Are ya coming in? I kinda offered you a place to stay, you know, I don't think the other residents want someone hanging out in the halls."

I huff and scratch my head, trying to piece together a coherent sentence from the jumble of thoughts buzzing through my head. "No, no, it's just... I'm still kind of confused about a few things, and I think... I think we should try to figure them out first, in case things get weird."

She blinks. "Jeez, Reese, don't you think you're thinking too far into it? It's not a huge deal, let's just not worry about it, okay?"

I stand firm. "Whether or not you worry about it, _I'm_ going to unless I know we're on the same page. I have enough to worry about, honestly."

She blinks. "Well aren't you adorable. Come on, asshole, we can talk about it inside the apartment," she adds, urging me through the door. "See, was that hard? Get yourself a seat, I'm gonna go change." I take a deep breath and look around. I really need to ask how the two of them can afford this place. Compared to the apartments available in this city, this thing doesn't rank anywhere near the top, but it's got to be a few income brackets above what Harry, Norm, and Chet can afford. Or do they just spend their money differently? Or maybe they _can_ afford nicer places, maybe not this nice, but significantly better than what they've got. Norm obviously spends more on food than any of us, maybe more than the rest of us combined. Then Harry, well... Harry doesn't spend his money on ragweed; he's a full-on connoisseur of the herb. Chet probably spends his money on... video equipment, I guess? His temp work probably doesn't pay much better than Harry's job at the record store. I can't even remember what Norm does. So maybe Billie and Audie just choose to spend more of their money on rent. They're roommates, after all, so they're obviously pooling their money. I wonder why the guys don't.

My logical journey is waylaid by Audie's return. In place of her previous outfit she's got on an oversized tee-shirt and a pair of what look like old gym shorts. Sloth cloth, I think that's the term. "I guess just drop your bags wherever, and we can 'figure out' whatever's got your butt in a twist." She climbs onto the couch and I follow, leaving my bags on the floor.

"Okay. So I guess it's like-"

"OH, wait, wait!" She runs to her room and comes back with her phone, climbing back onto the couch and poking at the screen before setting it between us. She looks to me with a smile and says, "Okay, you can go now."

My eyes bounce between Audie and the phone for a few moments. "Are you seriously recording me?"

She shrugs, nodding. Her smile hasn't changed. "Well, yeah, I want to be prepared if some lost gold falls out of your mouth. I need material, all right?"

I groan. "Fine. I just want to figure out what we are. I mean, ignoring everyone and everything else, the two of us need to figure this out before things get strange."

"Well... we're friends. Exes who are still friends," she chuckles, grinning wider. "Didn't _you_ come up with that one?"

"Goddamnit, you know I was on fucking Mars when I said that, can you be serious for just a minute?"

She rolls her eyes. "All right, jeez. So what's got your panties in a twist? Lay it on me."

I sigh. "Okay. So... we are friends. I know that part. But some of the shit we've been doing isn't 'friend' stuff, do you see what I mean?"

She blinks. "Uh, yeah... you know friends can do stuff besides just hanging out and going to the movies, right?"

"Not my point. I want to be able to have a plausible explanation in case someone asks. Probably more important for you, since I don't think you want anyone to assume you're dating a homeless guy."

She slouches back on the couch and scratches an ear, turning her eyes towards the ceiling. "Yeah, well... I've dated a couch-surfer before, so that wouldn't be a stretch. At least you have marketable skills," she finishes, disgust plain to hear in her voice. I'm not sure if she's more disgusted with him for being a waste of fur or with herself for believing in him. I'm making assumptions. It's none of my business.

"I'm not gonna lie to myself again, and I'm definitely not gonna lie to you, so I have to admit that there's something there. My problem with that is that I pretty much ran off the only real girlfriend I've ever had by being a complete fucking asshole, and I don't want to run you off just the same, because we're _actually friends_ and I'd like to keep that if nothing else."

She shakes her head. "You're not gonna run me off."

"What makes you think that?"

"Well for starters, you've admitted to shit that an unrepentant asshole wouldn't admit, so you've probably grown up since then, and I've probably had worse anyway."

 

The conversation continues to bounce between us. I'm not as good at English as I thought I was - some of the less-common words still elude me, as it turns out - and the philosophies of love, lust, and relationships have never been my strong suit. A lot like a homeschooler, she says, except I've provably kissed a girl before. She reaches out to pat me on the shoulder. "We're buddies, dude. It's not just a guy thing, girls can be buddies, too."

I think about this for a moment. "Girls don't fuck their buddies. Have you ever heard someone say 'you wanna fuck, buddy?' It just doesn't happen. Now, buddies share secrets and get wasted together, but they don't fuck."

She nods. "Hmm. Interesting, interesting. However, counterpoint: fuckbuddies."

I turn to look at her. " _Fuck_ buddies? Are you just making this shit up?"

She returns my look, incredulous. "Are you serious?! Fucking zoogle it! Get your phone out. Right now, dumbass. Fuckbuddies, one word. Synonym: friends with benefits."

At her insistence, I pull out my phone and pause before I begin searching. "Hey, what's your wifi? I can't afford a lot of data, I usually just leech off coffee shops and shit."

She rolls her eyes again. They're going to roll right out of her head one of these times. "It's 'window garden of eden,' password 'eden all this pussy.' One word, all lowercase."

I sit still for a moment, completely silent. "...Okay, then." Once I'm on their wifi I hit up Zoogle and begin searching. "...Okay, so it's a thing, or at least the internet claims it is. But I don't know if we should really..." I pause to think. "This just looks risky. This one here says it's doomed to fail, because one or the other will fall in love, and shit gets complicated."

"Pfff. You can't believe _everything_ you read on the internet." I wonder if the irony in that statement is as clear to her as... no, I see that smirk. She fully intended it. "Besides, we can worry about that later. For now you're a friend in need, and a friend in need is a friend indeed, right? And I don't like being the only one here. I get nervous and can't sleep, and I can't scream at another customer."

I take a deep breath. "Well... all right."

"You're just thinking too deep into it, dude. I swear, for all the thinking you do, you'd think you'd be better at it by now or something!" she laughs.

"Yeah, well... there's a lot of things you'd think I'd be better at. Shit like finding acting work."

She shrugs. "If you're looking for any kind of work, you could always check Camelslist. Hell, _I'll_ check Camelslist, and you can just practice thinking!" she laughs. I aim an unamused stare at her, but it has no effect. "Besides, we can worry about all this shit some other time. I mean _sure_ , we've screwed a couple times, but we didn't end up hating each other, so I'm willing to call it a win. But as I recall you still owe me a dinner, so maybe _that_ should be on your mind instead of whatever philosophical bullshit's rattling around in your head."

I look across the room at a piece of art hung on the wall. It's not something I'd expect in an apartment shared by two amateur comedians I'd guess are around my age. "Well, you may be waiting a while on that unless you're cool with me doing the cooking. I can't exactly afford a sit-down restaurant... probably not even a burga. And I'm NOT going to La Cucaracha, and I'm not up for a repeat of the fucking kung pao!" I frown as she falls on her side, clutching her gut and spasming from laughter. "What the fuck, it's not _that_ funny."

She eventually gets ahold of herself and wipes the tears from her eyes. "Okay, okay, maybe it's not that funny to _you_ , but I'd forgotten all about it. Admit it, you've thought of putting that into a bit... hell, I'd hardly be surprised if you haven't already! It's not every day a perfect joke just writes itself like that."

I have thought about it. I've gone as far as writing a partial setup to it, in fact. But it's still a bit of a sore subject. "This shit doesn't just write _itself_. You know that."

"Yeah, I know..." she sits up, smiling at me. "It's getting pretty late, anyway, you wanna talk about some shit or do you just wanna sleep?"

"I don't know," I mutter, rubbing my chin. I'd really like to sleep. I didn't get a full day's sleep to begin with and most of the night has been a fucking trial. I need to sleep, but I don't know if I can. I may be too stressed to even fall asleep, and even if I did, what if I just relive it? I still feel like I'm in shock about the whole thing. I don't want to go through that again. "Do you have anything to drink?"

She snorts, stifling a laugh. "Do _I_ have anything to drink," she mocks.

 

I really wish we hadn't drunk so much. It turns out we both come from heavy-drinking cultures, mostly because there's nothing fucking else to do where we come from, but Audie didn't actually grow up in Wisc- Wisca- Wicca... Whisker City? No, that's not it. She says it's full of corn, cheese, and beer, it gets cold, and she's glad they moved here when she was little. That's all I remember. In any case, I've had worse hangovers, but that doesn't mean I like to perform on one. If I can pull off fifteen minutes of stage health to open for her, that'll be fine; and it's a good thing her scheduled opener had to bail, because I can really use those thirty dollars.

I throw back a preparatory swallow of rum, to chase the two other preparatory shots. I see a bottle of water on the stage, which is what I really need on a physical level, but water doesn't help with stress. I stride- no, my legs aren't long enough to stride. I shuffle onto the stage and grab the microphone, wasting no time on an introduction for myself. "Lady and gentleman, welcome to the show. I figure there's got to be one of each of those in our crowd tonight, and I thought I'd welcome them first. All of you drunks, are welcome here, too." A scattered laugh. Not bad for a cold open, I guess. "Welcome to Giggles and Company. Just to confirm, I am obviously not your headliner, she's a lot funnier than I am. I'm just here to lower your expectations before her show so she seems funnier by comparison. So let's get to that, shall we?"

I clear my throat. "Now, you seem like a smart crowd. The fact that you're not laughing may attest to that. So I think you all should know that I've stumbled on a little bit of a trick. See, I recently saved a lot of money on my car insurance... BY CRASHING MY FUCKING VAN." Misdirection plus rage equals laughter. Not much, but that's okay. "Yeah. Yesterday evening I was on the highway trying to make it back downtown, when some - I don't know what. Some giant fat fuck with the biggest ass in the animal kingdom's fucking chair fell off of their trailer right in front of me, and I had no room to avoid it thanks to daytime rush hour. Now if any of you are familiar with me and my other material, which if you are I apologize sincerely, you'd know that for the entire time I've lived in this city, I've been _living_ in that van. So imagine you're driving your house down the road, and you crash your fucking house. That's how my week's been going."

I stop to take a sip of water. I'm feeling kind of hot already; are these lights turned up, or am I just that mad? Probably the latter. "Now according to the textbook definition, I've been homeless ever since I arrived in this city. I have a box at the post office, so I get mail and everything, but I don't have a permanent address. But I did have a _home_ , and that was my van. But do you know what the sick irony is? Now that I'm literally and functionally homeless, I'm actually significantly more fuckable than when I was living in the van." Some laughs and a clap. Pretty quiet crowd. Maybe they just haven't drunk enough yet.

"Anyway, what's going on with you folks? Anything good? Yeah? No? Hey... hey man, I see you on your phone there. What are you, tweeting? If you're saying I suck, you can put down 'this half-a-polecat cocksucker is ruining my night.'" A little laughter. I'm beginning to realize I'm just not doing well. "Yeah, I sometimes don't really know what I'm doing up here... this is kind of a third-tier backup plan that never really occurred to me, to be honest. I came here to be an actor. But to get acting work in this town you either have to know someone, work your way up for twenty years by doing shit jobs for a few dollars, or you have to be really good at sucking dick. I came here not knowing anybody and I can't open my mouth big enough to fit most of the producers around here, so you can guess which option I'm stuck with."

I take another sip as a smattering of laughter dies down. "Yeah, it's... you know, I just realized, that me dumping my fucking problems on all of you is probably not what you all came here for. I mean, is this a comedy club or a fucking blues bar? Sure it may help me to get it all out, but I'm supposed to be making you _laugh_. As it is, I think I'm trying to turn this place into a blues club." One chuckle. Just a chuckle. "All right. How about I tell some fucking jokes? Think that'd help? Let's get things moving. I was watching Flocks News again recently, not because I enjoy it, but because I need material. They had some wool-brained moron propped up in front of the camera, as usual, bleating about how there's a bird serial killer on the loose. They were going on and on about someone biting the heads off of ducks and stabbing swans with sticks. And I gotta be honest, the whole time he was talking, I couldn't stop wondering what pigeons taste like."

 

I set my glasses on the table and rub a palm across my - AH, FUCK! I rub my left palm gently, hissing at the stinging sensation. I don't know anything about stitches. I don't know how long to leave them in, I don't know how to take them out, but I don't think they should still hurt. Probably should have taken Harry and Norm up on that free clinic idea. I curse under my breath and start feeling around for my glass. Sitting next to me is Audie, and she's about as drunk as I am. She watches me, blinking slowly, with her chin resting on a paw as she quietly slides my drink around so I keep missing it. "You feel okay, dude? Kinda off your game tonight."

I squint hard and catch my drink, giving her a side-eye glance. " _No_ I don't feel okay, what kind of question is that?"

She rolls her eyes. " _Waaaaah_. I mean seriously, do you feel okay. Like are you sick or something."

I lean back in my seat and scratch my neck. "Well my paw feels pretty shitty, so there's that. I don't see any pus or anything coming out, though, isn't that supposed to be a good sign?"

She cranes her neck to look at my palm, twisting her face. "Iunno. Looks kinda red, but I'm not a doctor or anything. You been keeping it clean?"

"Wha- I- _duh!_ It's my freaking paw, what do you think I'm gonna do? Scoop out latrines with it?"

"Maybe you should switch to your right instead of bitching at me," she replies, gripping and rubbing an imaginary dong with a smirk.

"Okay, that- that's just bullshit. I'm right-pawed anyway, why would I use my left?"

She shrugs. "Hell should I know? Just don't tell righty you've been sleeping around."

It's very hard for me not to laugh. I settle for clamping my mouth shut and temporarily covering my eyes so she can't see the strain in them. "All right, since you asked, I don't feel fine. I'm worried as fuck, to be honest, and it should be very obvious as to why. I've lost the only actual home I've had since coming here, I've lost a big part of who I am, and I've lost a treasured heirloom passed down to me by my grandfather. I'm under a lot of stress because I don't have any money, I don't have a positive lifestyle, and I'm pretty sure that fucking prison-pony cop is gonna try to come after me like some pet project after the way he cared so much about my van being unsafe and illegal."

She cocks her head. "...Prison pony?"

"Yeah, you know... guy was a zebra. Stupid decision to become a cop with a slur like that attached to your species. I mean, what's the thought process on that? Or a pig, for fuck's sake?!" I puff my chest out and push my jaw forward, miming as though I were walking a beat. "Look at me, I'm gonna be the dumb fucker who reinforces stereotypes!"

She laughs, nearly spilling her drink. "Dude, why couldn't you pull _that_ shit on stage?"

I slouch again, deflated. "Because I don't want folks thinking I'm specist. Not any more than I really am, anyway, but they don't need to know about that."

She places a paw on mine. " _Fuck_ the police. Fuck everything and everyone, isn't that your basic philosophy?" She shakes her head. "You'll be fine, now shut up and drink, Candyman." With that she downs what's left in her glass and leaves a tip for the wait staff. I follow her from the table and out the door as we stumble slowly along the sidewalk, inching imperceptibly toward her apartment on the tiny legs with which evolution has cursed us. "Hell, I got problems. You think I don't? Society puts a bunch of expectations on me, and I haven't met a single one. I have moody mornings where I have trouble getting to sleep, but you know what? I'm doing what I like and I'm not being an asshole, so I call that a win. _Sure_ , I gotta work a night job to make ends meet, but my parents have enough grandkids that I can sit back and let my siblings ruin their lives while I enjoy mine. I guess what I'm trying to say is... uh... life is what you make it. And if you can't make it that way, lower your expectations a little bit."

I stop, staring at her. She looks back at me, filled with drunken pride. "I'm sorry, Audie, but I think you're too drunk to talk."

She waves a paw dismissively, turning back toward our path. "Yeah, well... never let that stop me before. Hey, you written any sketches recently? I've been meaning to ask about that. If you're gonna be takin' up my couch and breathing my air conditioning, I may as well put you to work washing dishes and brainstorming shit."

I sigh as I resume walking, barely catching up to her without knocking us both over. "I haven't written shit. I probably should, but I don't know if I've got anything good upstairs."

"You don't need anything _good_ ," she laughs, pushing me playfully. "You just need something weird, and then I'll _make_ it funny. See how that works? We could make a great team, you and I... well, mostly I." She grins at me, rubbing it in for a moment. She's got a point, though; she comes up with many more workable ideas than I do. But I figure if I can just come up with a few really good ones, I may establish myself as more than just the whipping boy of the troupe.

I clear my throat and check to make sure we're alone. At this hour, you'd be lucky to find even a predator out on the street. "Oh, I've got something for you. Let me tell you about this dream I had..."


	46. Closed and Clothes

I do _not_ miss taking public transportation to Fedor's. Don't get me wrong; it's not because the buses and trains are wheeled petri dishes, the other passengers are often terrifying, or the schedules are inconvenient. Those are all true, but they're not why I hate taking public transportation. All of those are to be expected anywhere you go, it'd be unfair to hold them against this city in particular. I hate taking public transportation because I hate not being free. Free to take a more direct route, free to go where I want when I want, free to flip off and curse other drivers... among other things.

Part of me just can't believe any of this. The fact that I've lost the only really nice thing I owned. Fuck you, I know what you're thinking. And yeah, it may have been an ancient beater, but _I_ thought it was nice to have a roof over my head, nice to have my own space, nice to have all my things together... and now it's gone because some shithead can't tie a fucking knot. Probably because they don't have fingers. Fucking... what the fuck do giant herbivores have? Hooves? Arm-feet? Who cares. I just hope my insurance company gets ahold of the bastard. After the ridiculous fucking premiums they've been charging me, it's the _least_ they could do.

I trudge up to Fedor's door and grip the low handle, taking a breath before I give it a MIGHTY HEA- OW _FUCK_ , MY FUCKING SHOULDER! What the hell, did the goddamn door ice up or... wait, why aren't the lights on? Shit. What the hell? I press my nose against the glass, peering in at the darkness. The gangsters aren't even here. The counter display is empty. What happened to all the fish? WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THE FISH?! My head whips around, looking for anything. A note, a message, a sign left by the health department, anything that can tell me why my actual paying job is closed! Something catches my eye from the other side of the glass. Taped to the door, well above my head level, is a handwritten note in... fuck, I can't read that shit! Wait, shit, doesn't Zoogle have a translator?

After several painstaking minutes of trying to pick all the right letters - prolonged by the combined efforts of frosty glass, shivering paws, and my employer's penmanship - I think I've translated the note. "The store is temporarily closed to the owner for participation in family event. Fedor will open again early next month. Thank you for patronage." What the fuck. What the FUCK. This motherfucker planned a vacation and didn't tell the ONE GUY who works for him?! I break into a scramble, poking angrily at my phone as I try to find a bus stop, a heated sidewalk, or something - anything to keep my feet from freezing to this sidewalk. I get to shelter and find the number I believe to be Fedor's. This son of a bitch...

The phone rings. And rings. It goes to voicemail. Well, sorry, fucker, I'm not leaving you a fucking voicemail! I call again. Ring ring, ring ring, ring ring... voicemail. Redial. Voicemail. I _know_ this is your fucking phone number, asshole! Redial! Voicemail! Redial! Voicemail! REDIAL! The ringing stops. I hear something, faintly. A low growl, something shifting on a creaky bed. Then a deep, bass grumble. "What?"

Target acquired. " **WHAT THE _FUCK!_** " I shout, summoning all the volume I've developed over years of practice. I've been yelling forever, but since theater school, I can get  _surprisingly_ loud. It helps on stage, but tonight it's helping me deliver a volley of verbal bitchslaps across goddamn continents. "DO YOU HAVE A GODDAMN BRAIN IN YOUR SKULL, FEDOR? OR DID IT DISSOLVE IN THE VODKA AND RUN DOWN THE FUCKING TOILET?"

His reply is a barked curse, so loud that it may nearly have blown my phone's tiny piece of shit speaker. " _SUKIN SYN!_ " He calls me that often. I think that means 'son of bitch' in his language. "YOU FORGET WHO PAY YOU, STUPID BOY?"

"Uh, you forget who _work_ for you? Maybe tell the goddamn knife guy you're closing for a fucking month to go drink the motherland dry?!" ...No response. Did this criminal fuck hang up on m-

I finally hear a long sigh. Must have taken a while for this particular situation to worm its way through his thick skull. " _Blyat_... felt like I forgot something. Uhh, yes, close shop for few weeks to see family. Catch up with old friends. You sure I not tell you?"

I take a deep breath. "Working for you is what keeps me off the street, Fedor. Yeah, I think I'd remember it if you told me I'd be starving for a few fucking weeks."

"Hey, watch mouth when-"

"Fuck no I'm not gonna watch my mouth, you can't touch me from there! What're you gonna do, reach through the phone?"

"Eh, I have friend who'd probably strangle you for fifty dollar. Could call her now, that okay?"

"Bull _shit_ , nobody's that goddamn cheap. You can't get _fucked_ in this city for fifty dollars, you expect me to believe you can put a hit on someone for that?"

He laughs. "You find some balls in one of those fish? All right. I make some calls, find something to keep laughing boy fed for while... hopefully not dead by time I back. Going to have backlog of orders, need good hands in back room. Yeah?"

I curse silently. "Yeah. Fine." He hangs up and I pull myself onto a bench to wait for the next bus, which should probably be... in twenty-five minutes. _Fuck_.

 

I drag my salty carcass up to Audie's door, twitching involuntarily as my mind keeps repeating the realizations that occurred during my trip. With a heavy sigh I rap on the door, sincerely hoping she's awake by now. "Audie? Open up."

Nothing. Goddamnit... I get my phone out and dial her up, pressing one ear against the door. I think I can hear her phone. She _must_ be here. The ringing stops and I raise the phone to my other ear. After a moment she finally speaks. "What?"

"Hi. Can you let me in?"

She pauses, probably because she's still at least sixty percent asleep. "What, did you forget something?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "No, but my boss forgot to tell me that he's out of town and closed for a few weeks. Isn't that great?"

I hear her scoff on the other end. "I fucking told you to _quit_ that job. That guy fucking creeps me out, who knows what kind of mafia shit he's in?"

"Who the hell else is gonna pay me that well for that little work? You? Didn't think so. Now are you gonna let me in or not?" She hangs up. My answer comes moments later as she swings the door open to stare at me with the most withering look I've yet seen cross her wide-eyed face, made extra ridiculous by all the fur on the left side of her head being squashed flat. It's cuter than it is threatening. "Surprise! Someone's sent you an asshole telegram. I'm gonna go bogart your couch for the foreseeable future."

She rubs an eye, watching as I pass. "So wait... dude just fucks off and doesn't tell anyone?"

"No, he left a note for his _customers_ , but not for me. Took me forever to figure out what the fuck it said." I climb up onto the couch and rub my forehead, plopping down along an armrest. "I don't think my week can get any worse. No van _and_ no job? I should start thinking of my hobo alias right now to save myself the time later."

"Well I think Soup Can Sam is already taken, so you can forget about that one," she jokes, climbing up after me.

I stare at her for a moment as she sits down beside me. "Don't you have, uh... shit, what's it called... oh yeah. A _bed_ that you can sleep in?"

"Yeah, but if I can't fall asleep for whatever reason, I wanna be here to kick you so you can't either."

"You're such a gracious host." I set my glasses aside and close my eyes, listening to the silence and missing the low rumble of traffic.

I awake some time later - hours, perhaps - to something poking me in the face. I refuse to open my eyes, swatting at the offending prodding, but my assailant repeats their attack. "Hey." It's Audie. Of _course_ it's Audie. "Hey, Freddie Fish Hooks, wake your ass up." I groan and crack an eye open, pushing her off me. "Come on, I've got shit to do and you've got a job to apply for. Here, found it on Camelslist: 'Seeking male predator performers for nightly work. Must be in good shape, previous dancing experience a plus. Apply in person at twelve-oh-seven Bluestem Boulevard in the Meadowlands.' See, sounds just about right for you, doesn't it?"

I scratch my side and sigh. "Well damn. That's so specific, how could it  _possibly_ suck?" I rise from the cushion and rub my eyes, then look for my glasses.

"You're a regular optimist, Candyman. I'm going to work, if you see anything on the news about a copy shop burning down, you tell the cops I called in sick. Now get off your ass and go get yourself a gig." She slings a bag onto her shoulder and stops just before leaving. "Do I have to tell you to break a leg or something?"

I grimace. "No, I always thought that was stupid. Later."

 

Twelve-oh-seven Bluestem Boulevard. Didn't think I'd see such a scuzzy-looking area in the middle of the goddamn Meadowlands, but I guess urban decay isn't all that picky about where it strikes. Had to catch a goddamn bus from the High Road subway station, on which I almost got crushed by some dumbass bovine wearing dark sunglasses at night. Trying to hide their bugged-out coke eyes, no doubt. You'd think they didn't see me or something, the way they tried to sit down right on top of me! I should have taken that dumb stick of theirs and stuck them in the eye. Swinging it around at floor level, trying to whack small mammals an- fuck, I think that guy was blind. At least he can't pick me out in a police lineup. Hopefully this seedy, run-down shithole of a building has a more to offer me than the bus ride. The only sign I see is from the realtor; the business sign must be in the works. Some kind of restaurant and stage show place, I guess. Could be worse.

I tug on the door and find it surprisingly easy to open. Lot of rabbits in the Meadowlands, I shouldn't be surprised. They, like me, need assistance with oversized doors. I find a sign, posted higher on the wall than I'd like, but I'm used to looking up by now. 'Applicants head through green door and wait.' Fine. I find the green door and enter what looks like a backstage area, which is nothing I wouldn't have expected, but it's almost hauntingly barren. There are no racks of costumes, no makeup kits, no chattering actors ribbing each other from the empty chairs... but there are a few seats beside a door marked 'stage,' and a lone rabbit peeks her head through with a clipboard in her paw.

She glances around the green room, looking disappointed, before double-taking as she finally notices me. "OH!" She nearly jumps. Some stereotypes ring true, as it turns out. "Oh, I'm sorry - are you here to audition?" she asks, looking at her clipboard.

"Yeah, uh... I didn't call or anything, it said to apply in person, so I just came. Is that okay?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, that's fine. I'll just need some info from you, and we can go ahead. Just put your name, a number we can reach you at, maybe an email address if that's more reliable," she explains, approaching me and offering the clipboard and a pen.

I notice there are about a couple dozen names above mine, but nobody else here. "Did I miss the rush or something? Doesn't look like anyone stuck around. This some kind of dinner-and-a-show place?"

She takes the board back and smiles. "Not quite, but there's a pretty big - and growing - interest for what we've got in mind, and we want to set the standard when it emerges! We've done a lot of outreach with the community, and we have a really good feeling about our odds. Now you can sit by the door, it'll probably just be a minute before we call you in, or if you'd like you can take a look through the costumes in the bin. I... don't know if we'll actually have anything in your size, though. You're definitely the smallest guy to come in so far, but we didn't go into this with any size prejudice, I want to make that clear."

I look toward the laundry basket of cheap costumes. "Yeah, well, the ad said predators, so it'd be kinda stupid to pick and choose prejudices." She nods and hops off through the door. Some flimsy plastic fire helmet, WAY too big for me... mirrored sunglasses, fake police badge, plastic gun... goddamn foam clown nose. They must have scraped the bottom of every barrel for these piece of shit costumes. But then, I suppose their capital is in the building rather than the accessories. I sigh, wondering what the hell I'm getting myself into. I've been a part of some strange productions, even stranger than the grimdark Little Shop of Horrors I've been rehearsing, but this place seems... off. Like there's something obvious I'm missing. But as far as I can tell it's just a windowless building with a stage. Maybe it's because I walked through the front and didn't see a box office.

The same rabbit knocks on the door. I mean, I _think_ it's the same one. I turn away from the basket of polyester garbage and head to the door, walking through to see only spotlights shining on me. Shielding my eyes, I walk out and try to find- there they are! A few sets of rabbit ears silhouetted in the audience seats. "Come closer, we don't bite!" one of them jokes, and I head downstage. That's new. I've never seen a stage with a projection past the proscenium before, maybe it's for audience immersion or something. Not a bad thing, I guess; soliloquys are supposed to be very intimate looks into the character's mind, and I can't imagine they'd be at all diminished by standing closer to the audience.

"All the way out?" I ask, still shading my eyes and trying to get a look at my audience. Three rabbits and... a deer?

"Yeah, come on. Didn't find anything that fit back there?" another asks, urging me closer. "That's okay, just come on out and give us a little show, let us see what you can do."

I approach the edge of the stage and take a knee, holding one paw aloft and gazing into the eyes of a prop skull I do not possess, and speak softly. "Alas... poor Boarick! I knew him, Hornatio... a swine of infinite jest and most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his ba-"

I'm interrupted by a cackle of laughter, punctuated by a small paw slapping a tabletop. "Okay, I know he's not much to look at, but can we all agree he's got a sense of humor?" one asks the others. I keep my lips drawn tight into a flat expression, careful not to betray my displeasure as my audience bickers and argues. "Okay, okay... uh, what was it, Reese? ...Huh, thought that was just a candy company. Okay, show us some dance moves or something. It's nice you have 'em, but we're too concerned with dramatic chops."

Someone less amused chimes in. "Well don't be so hasty, acting is important. Show us some more of that. Show us something primal, show us... a hunter going after prey."

Show them wha?? Is this some kind of- fuck it, I need the money. "Uh, all right. How far do you want me to go? We talking Viking, caveman, or full savage?"

I feel four sets of eyes turn off me and toward each other, and hear whispers of a conversation. "Let's say caveman. Don't wanna go too big too fast, you know?"

I take a deep breath as I consider a few things. "All right." I put my glasses in my shirt pocket and unbutton it, setting it beside a ceiling support. Odd thing to have in the middle of a stage, but I guess they can work around it. Could be worse. I twist around, staring into the distance and sniffing the air. I prick my small ears up, curling my lip as the scent of prey fills my nostrils. I feint, turning to hide behind the support, then rush forward toward the edge of the stage with my claws and teeth on full display. I hear a few gasps.

"Go around the pole again, can you wind yourself all the way around it?"

Kind of a weird request, but... okay. I double back and reach out, catching the support with one paw and twisting myself around it. It seems pretty narrow to hold up much of anything, but what do I know? Another request comes from my audience. "Can you climb it, hang from it, anything like that?" Well, it's been a while since I've climbed a mast, but there's only one way to find out. I shimmy up the support and try a few old tricks, hooking my feet together and leaning ba-

Oh fuck, this is a strip club. The sketchy location, the windowless building, the projected stage with a POLE in the middle?! Fuck, I know I've never seen one from onstage, but couldn't I have put this together before I was _hanging off the fucking pole?!_ I slide down and find my shirt and glasses, sputtering an apology. "Uh, you know what, this isn't really- I don't think this is a good fit for my talents, uh, you're probably looking more for guys who know how to _dance_ , and I've got two left feet..."

"Hey, no need to be nervous, what's wrong? You're doing pretty well. Get a bit of stage fright?"

I finish buttoning my shirt and shake my head. "Uh, no, it's not- I kinda just realized what this is, I mean, what you're putting together here, and it's really not my kind of thing. You're probably looking for bigger, buffer... uh, guys, right?"

"Oh shit, he didn't know what we're doing," one member of my audience says.

"No, _really?_ What was your first clue, when he came out and pulled some Shakesheare out of his ass?"

A male voice replies. "Well he's got something, that's more than you can say about most of the guys we've seen tonight. Do you wanna offer him the job or not?"

The second voice scoffs. "Offer it or not, he's not going to take it. He's obviously not comfortable with the whole thing."

I feel all their eyes turn to me again as one of them speaks. "You've probably figured out the basics of the job by now, yeah?"

I nod nervously. "Yeah, uh... I'm used to being on stage, but I'm not doing lap dances or anything."

They laugh. "Lap dances?! Buddy, this isn't that kind of place. Hell, you don't even have to take your _pants_ off if you don't want to. But you'll have to show those shoulders off, I'm gonna say that right now."

I scratch my head. "Look, I don't know if I'm really comfortable with-"

"The pay is fifteen dollars an hour plus tips. You can come onto the floor, jump on tables, snarl a bit, whatever's fun for the customers. We'll have some private booths set up for more... I can't think of a better word, _intimate_ encounters, but there's no bloodletting and no fucking allowed."

 

The bus ride, train ride, and second bus ride to Audie's place are completely silent except for the usual sounds of machinery. Fifteen an hour and tips. For what? Being scary? Having pointy teeth? I've been discriminated against for exactly those things. It feels... I don't know. Backwards, in a way. Fetishistic. Dirty. What would my parents think? ...wait, I don't give a fuck what they think. They'd probably be unhappy with it. I'll put that in the 'pro' pile, just to spite them. The 'con' pile is loaded with arguments against taking the job, but aside from the commute, they're all emotional arguments, and I hate making emotional arguments. Goddamnit, why is the pay so fucking tempting? It's not like they're offering me fucking hundreds of dollars a night!

I make it to Audie's door and check my phone. Fuck me, _that_ _long_ to get across town and back?! I miss my goddamn van. Even so, I hope she worked a short shift tonight. Working for a bullshit corporation like she does means part-time work only, but that can end up being a full shift two to three nights a week or half a shift per night. Fortunately for me they seem to have her working the latter, as she opens the door and grins at me. "So, how'd it go?"

I squeeze in past her, making a beeline for the couch. "I'm _not_ talking to you."

She cocks her head as she closes the door, staring at me in mild confusion. "Well, you kinda blew _that_ plan just now. What's up?"

"Okay, I don't _want_ to talk about it. Does that get the message across?"

"Mmm... yeah, it does, but you're gonna, 'cuz you're staying in my place and it's my rules." She climbs onto the couch beside me and pokes me in the ribs. "Come oooon... can't have been that bad."

I turn to glare at her. "Oh it can't, can it?"

She crosses her arms, challenging my glare with her own. "Yeah! Buddy, if you're gonna be all sour with me, I'm gonna cheer you up by force, because nobody gets to shit up the good vibes here but me."

I turn away with a sigh. I don't know how exactly she intends to do  _that_ , but I'm not about to let her tickle me or whatever she has planned. "You really wanna know? Fine. But if a whisper of this makes it out of this apartment, I want to remind you that I know where you live."

She blinks. "Kind of a stupid threat, dude. You're... you're _there_."


	47. On the Sourcing of Ball-Bearings Installed During the Manufacture of Bait-Casting Reels: A Treatise for the Layman

I'm glad Audie found a spare key. Harry never had one, but it wasn't as big a deal when I crashed with him. The Electric Embryo isn't a bad place to hang out, when the need arises, but a tiny PawPrints franchise in a shit strip mall is no fun for anyone. And the _customers_... dear god, the customers couldn't pour water out of a bucket with a ZooTube video tutorial. So I don't hang around there while Audie's working. It's just as well that I don't; I have things to do as well, like spend half my time chasing after or riding the bus. My legs are no help in that regard. Hell, I probably spend more time walking than riding, but I don't have time when I'm walking to actively hate it! I have to keep my head on swivel or someone might step on, run over, or otherwise maim me!

The rehearsals have been going well, at least. I'd have expected the show to have opened by now, but I didn't stop to consider that an amateur theater would have to work its rehearsals around different schedules, illnesses, or differing levels of talent. I'm too used to theater school where everyone's got basically the same schedule, little to no commute, and an understudy to take their place in case of emergency. But this is the real world. And I _chose_ to live like this, rather than take the modest career that likely awaited me across the pond. Maybe I'd never have played London - or, well, one of the BIG playhouses in London - but I might have. Two-years-ago Reese would have called me cynical and mopey. Pessimistic, even. I sigh, shaking my head. Two-years-ago Reese can shove his hopes and dreams up his ass. I'm not cynical. I'm a _realist_. I've wised up to the ways of the world, and it hasn't been a fun journey.

I set my shopping down and look in my bag for that spare key. Can't look in my _pocket_ , of course, because the fucking thing's twice the size of my paw. Just more shit a small mammal has to deal with on a daily basis! Shelves are too high, bathrooms have lousy accommodations, and doors are heavy. Those three in particular have become the trifecta of ruining my night so far, but there's hope. Fucking... damn this lock! Is it too much for maintenance to take  _care_ of these things? I get the door open, finally, and bring my things inside, eager to set them up. It's not much, really: a bottle of mid-level rum, a red velvet cupcake, and a foldable gift box made to look like a cheerful present. I really shouldn't be spending on anything that isn't absolutely necessary, given both the state of my finances and the results (or lack thereof) so far on my job hunt, but Audie's been nice enough to share her food and shelter with me. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't at least acknowledge her birthday?

She ought to be in soon. I look to the top of my phone's screen and check the time, confirming my suspicion. Any minute now... I should probably get off my ass. I hop down from the couch and pry the cupcake from its plastic clamshell, setting it on the low coffee table beside the rum. The gift box lies hidden, ready to be deployed once she's distracted, as I'm sure she will be. And how could she not? I know what women like. Cake and alcohol, the perfect combination to cure a woman of the homicidal rage that comes with a shitty job. I whirl around and look to the door. I hear telltale scrape of a key entering a lock and, soon after, the customary swearing that only a sticky lock can inspire. As soon as the door opens I scramble back onto the couch, sitting with my phone in my paw as I greet her with a cheerful "Surprise!"

I'm not sure what her night's been like so far, but from the look on her face I think I may have underestimated it. I choke down a dry-mouthed swallow as she stomps her tiny feet with each step, slamming the miniature door behind her and turns her baggy-eyed death glare in my direction. "What?" she asks, unclenching her paws from the tiny fists they'd been balled into for perhaps hours.

"I, uh... happy birthday?"

She groans softly. "My birthday's _tomorrow_ , but thanks."

I check the time. It's past seven in the morning. "It, uh... it's tomorrow today. I mean, it is now."

She shuts her tired eyes and huffs. "I mean... ugh. It's not tomorrow until I've _slept_. Or however it goes. I'm going to take a sho-"

I try to jump off the couch and miscalculate, tumbling to the floor and leaping to my feet. "Woah, wait! Hang on a minute, I got you something," I explain, straightening my glasses. "Ow... okay. You've been super cool about this whole thing, so I went and got you a cake and some liquor."

I can almost hear her neck crack as her head whips around to face me once again, any sign of fatigue banished from her expression. "You WHAT?!" she shrieks excitedly, finally noticing the simple banquet I've laid out in her honor. "Oh shit, dude! I'm sorry I was snippy with you, I was just so tired from... ugh. I don't even wanna think about it anymore." She all but skips to her cupcake, pretty much just a cake for small fucks like us.

I shrug. "I mean, I can do more than just wash the damn dishes if you're letting me stay here. ...Especially if it ends up being a while."

She laughs, turning to look back at me. "Reese, do you want to just _live_ here? Because this is how you end up convincing me to let you just stay."

I sneakily grab the gift box, hiding it behind my back for a moment. I need to make sure she's focused on... she's looking at the bottle, now's my chance! "Well I didn't just get you a cake, you know. I mean, besides the rum. Don't you want to open your present?" I drop to a knee, lowering my head as I present the empty box to her as would one offer shit to royalty. As soon as I feel her lift the lid, I shove my tongue through the hole I'd cut in its side and waggle it suggestively, aiming for maximum comedic impact. WAKKA WAKKA!

Her laughter fills the spacious apartment, and I'm about to pull my mouth away from the box when I suddenly feel - and taste - something I hadn't expected. "That's a GREAT idea," she says, gripping me by my tongue and leading me to her bedroom.

Even as it floods my every thought, the prospect of such a reward does little to distract from the SURPRISING AMOUNT OF PAIN that comes with being dragged, cavewoman-style, by my fucking tongue.

 

Oh god... everything's sore. Parts of me are stuck to other parts of me. Other parts of me are stuck to the sheets with OH GOD, IS THAT BLOO- oh, it's cake. Hope I didn't eat much, sugar wreaks hell on my digestion. What time is it? Does time matter anymore? Wait, that's a stupid thought. Of _course_ time matters, it's just that some of it matters a little more. I can tell that the sun's almost down. I look around and squint, barely making out Audie's shape next to me on the bed, empty rum bottle laying on its side nearby. "Well... I guess that's one kind of birthday party," I groan, scratching my side and finding a dry, crusty patch of... cream cheese frosting. Fuck, I could really use a shower. "Hey. You awake?"

Her first response is a grumbled, unintelligible curse. She follows with "...'m sleeping. Shut up."

"Well, all right. I'm gonna take a shower, you should probably do something about... uh... you know what, you might just burn these sheets. I don't know if red velvet stains or not, but there's probably... uh... you know what, just throw it out." I find my glasses and get a proper look at the damage. We really did a number on this bedspread.

"Fine... shut up and wake me when you're done, and if you use all the hot water I'm gonna rip your face off."

I dismiss her threat, shaking my head as I exit the room. Fuck, it hurts to walk. It hurts to _breathe_. I've been stiff enough ever since the crash, what the fuck did we do? Ow... I reach the bathroom and gaze up at the knobs. Fuck that. If I'm climbing up to shit, I may as well just climb up to the sink and take a bath. ...Hell, that's not a bad idea. Uses less water, too! You're welcome, _the environment_. I reach the sink and give the knob a twist, letting the water heat up before stopping the drain. I'll just grab some soap while that fills. Probably hit up the toilet, too.

I ease myself, wincing and hissing, into the water. Oh fuck, that's nice... a bit of a soak before I worry about actually washing myself won't hurt anything. I let myself sink down to my chin - or, well, I would if I weren't buoyant. But that's fine. Floating is relaxing, and the warm water both soothes the muscles and loosens the cake. Once I'm done soaking, and once my brain's finally going, I reach for some soap and begin to scrub. God, that stuff's really deep in there, what the fuck were we doing? I think I remember smearing frosting on each other, but the fucking cake, too? That just doesn't make any goddamn sense. It's like I rolled around in it, that's jus- OW! Goddamnit, what the fuck was that? I rub my shoulder, wincing slightly before trying to spread my fur apart to look beneath. Goddamnit, she fucking _bit_ me. And hard, too. I'm giving her shit for that when she's up.

But she's not up yet, and she won't be for until I drag her out of bed, so why don't I raid her fridge while she's still asleep? That's a good plan. I climb out of the sink and shake myself off, grabbing one of Billie's paw towels - she ain't fucking here, she ain't fucking using it - and dry off a little bit. I can see how Audie could get used to the scale of this place; even when I was staying at Harry's, I tried to get out of there as often as I could because I assumed I _couldn't_. Having to hit light switches with a stick is a pain, though, and I'd rather rent something smaller given the chance. I pause before I leave the bathroom, looking up at the fan. Speaking of switches, I suppose I should turn that off, lest it finally die and I get the blame. Besides the lock, that fucking fan's the only thing wrong with this apartment aside from its scale. I've heard _blenders_ that made less noise. For all I know Audie's already up and roasting me from the living room, the goddamn thing's so loud!

I manage to hook the switch with one of Audie's... poles, I guess. They're dowels, but at our size they're fucking poles. Not an easy trick to master with a plain stick. I toss the towel over my shoulder and shuffle out, sniffing the air. I don't remember this place smelling so much like her, but I've just been boiling myself, so maybe I was used to it before. Anyway, who cares? It's time for some breakfast. I saunter into the kitchen, quietly improvising some toneless jazz scat as I make a beeline for the fridge and look inside for something to-

I shut the fridge and snap my attention to my left, staring back at a stranger. Thank fuck I already hit the toilet, or I'd have shit my pa- on the floor right here. Okay, quick assessment. I mentally turn to my reptile brain and demand a pros and cons report. Well, he's bigger than me, so he can probably kick my ass. He's pretty overweight, but that could be hiding muscle, so he could probably kick my ass. He's older than me - roughly middle-aged - meaning he's been around the block. So he can probably kick my ass. Anything in our favor, reptile brain? Yes. He looks just as surprised as I am, so I must seize the initiative if I want to kick his ass. He's holding a cake, so his paws are full, meaning I can probably get in the first shot. Also I'm naked, so I have the psychological advantage. That's three against three, reptile brain. Mammalian brain, recommended course of action? Cover your wiener and say something!

I pull the towel from my shoulder, wrapping it around my nethers and crying out, "I DON'T KNOW, I'VE BEEN DRINKING."

He scarcely has time to make a reply - if he even can, given the nonsense he's had dumped on him - before a loud "SURPRIIIISE!" bellows from the other room, followed by angry screeching. We look to the doorway and back to each other, then both dash off to the bedroom to find at least a half-dozen other strange mammals staring in shock as Audie screams curses at them, half-asleep, holding up the bedsheet to cover her body and brandishing the empty rum bottle. The older man and I back slowly into the living room as Audie and the leader of them - a middle-aged woman - dive headfirst into a screaming argument.

 

An uneasy silence surrounds me as I sit on the couch. At least I'm not naked anymore, but that doesn't help the judgmental glances I refuse to meet. Audie continues to argue with the woman I now understand to be her mother, and from the resigned looks on the faces around me, I think this is a common thing between the two of them. Speaking of faces, it's obvious that this is her family. Most of them have the same wide-set, bug-eyed stare she does, some more so than others, and especially her father. My god, he's almost looking in two directions at once. His big, jowly face doesn't do him any favors; the man looks goddamn ridiculous, like a puppet come to life. But he seems calm. And though I can't be sure where exactly he's looking, I can tell he's not giving me the same judging looks as his other children.

"So, uh... one of Audie's friends?" someone asks. One of her brothers. He's got that look about him.

I blink, considering a reply. "...Yeah. I'm just, uh, crashing here for a while, things have been rough, and-"

"Didn't ask for your life story, pal," he interrupts, waving a paw. He's almost got some hint of an accent, but it's nothing I'm familiar with. Plus, Audie said she grew up in the suburbs around here, and suburbs don't _have_ accents. Why is this what I'm focusing on? I should be planning an escape for when the biggest of her brothers tries to jump at me. He's thinking about it, I can tell. He's got those chameleon eyes of his fixed right on me and he's been frowning the whole time. Against my better judgment, I meet his glare. Fuck, he's not looking away, now I'm stuck! If I blink he'll fly off that chair like a missile and rip my lungs out. I need to talk my way out of this... but how?

"There sure are a lot of you," I chuckle, nervously. "I was an only child, big families are..." I glance around. I don't think she said she had this many siblings. There've got to be a couple brothers- and sisters-in-law here, and each one of them's giving me the stink-eye. "...you know what, I think I'll shut up."

The biggest one leans forward as though to get up, but the patriarch of the tribe snaps his melty, wall-eyed stare onto him, and he leans back quietly. The older man shifts in his seat, grunting softly. "Yer that crab kid, right?" he asks in a stiff, Midwestern accent that I've only heard in old sketches about obese hoofball fans.

"Crab kid...?"

"Yeah, the one that called her an' said, 'Hey Audie, I got crabs! You want some?' That was pretty funny, 'specially the way she scrambled to turn her phone off." Oh shit, I remember that. Is THAT why she didn't call me back? Was she with her family?

One of her sisters - I don't know any of their names, and I don't expect I'll meet them ever again, so I don't care - pulls herself from her phone long enough to hide her contempt for me and ask a question. "So what do you do?" I don't do anything as important as any of these martens. I can tell from their clothes. These are mammals with jobs that pay and pay _well_. I can feel their resentment just like I can feel the frayed cuffs of my shorts.

It's kind of upsetting to feel this wave of negativity. I've felt hatred onstage, but there's a disconnect between a performer and their audience. The end of the stage is a window, and they don't see real Reese through it, just whichever Reese I want them to see. These folks are seeing me directly and they don't like what they see, which means I don't like them either. It's not a rational thought. It's a base, animal reaction to hostility and it's going to get my ass kicked if I give in to it. She wants to know what I do? I can say I DO YOUR BABY SISTER, BITCH, but if I say that, I'll have all of these fuckers stomping on me in seconds. "I'm, uh, I'm a comic, mostly. I mean, I'm an actor and a writer, but comedy's where I find work, and besides that I have a job in a fish shop..."

Their father perks up when he hears the word 'fish.' "You fish?" he asks, a perceptible twinkle in his crooked stare.

Shit. If I can get this guy on my side, I may just be safe. "Oh, yeah, I love fishing."

I can practically see rays of light shining off him as he beams with excitement, his chest puffing obviously as he inhales. "Have you seen this new line coming out from Lancaster? Now, they've been just about the top in their field for the better part of a decade, and it's a competitive world out there in pro-fishing reels, and I just don't think it's gonna do them any good. They're supposed to be a mid-level reel for the weekend fisherman, but word on the grapevine is that they're gonna use Chinese bearings to keep their costs down, and I don't care _what_ the magazines say, I just don't think it'll do their reputation a bit of good. My buddy Neil, now, he's all for it, he thinks that it might get more young guys into the pro-fishing scene if they can at least afford the name that the pros use, and he just goes on and on and on - I've known him since college, and the man never shuts up. He's like a broken record once you get him started, and this just isn't any different. But he thinks that a lower-cost reel will only expand their market share, and Lancaster has nowhere to go but up, but I just think it's a bad decision to skimp on materials like that. And I _know_ , I know the Chinese factories are putting out better things than they were ten or twenty years ago, but I have a buddy who swears by Chinese EVERYTHING and he never has a goddamn weekend free because he's always fixing something he bought online that broke the same day he got the sonofabitch! Do you know what I mean?"

I blink slowly. I didn't catch half of that. There's no way he said all of that in one breath. But if I'm going to get out of this without the rest of Audie's family turning me into a red smear on the floor, I'm gonna have to get on this madman's good side. I take a deep breath and think for a moment. "I can't begin to tell you... how GODDAMN MANY Pekinese bearings I've pulled out of reels back home! If you're gonna build a reel, you go _German_ , you go _Swedish_ , or you buy a goddamn NET because you're not gonna get any use out of that reel no matter how often you oil it! My grandfather has a reel twice my age, and he's had the bearings in that thing last ten years with proper care. And that's _commercial_ use, in _saltwater_ , because he knows you don't cheap out on your goddamn bearings!" The glares of contempt from all around me have turned into confounded stares, except from their father, who's evidently THRILLED to have found someone who shares his opinion on something. Audie and her mother emerge from her room - somehow laughing - and the rest of the family gets up to say their goodbyes, exiting as quickly as they came, leaving no trace but for a lingering smell.

 

I shut my eyes for a moment and try to relax. _Breathe_. Breathe in, breathe out. Audie tosses her phone up onto the couch and climbs after it, beginning to speak. I raise a finger, stopping her. Not yet. I need a second. Breathe in... breathe out. "What the FUCK was that?!" I screech, snapping my attention to my most gracious of hosts. "Does your family - that HAD to be your family, I saw the resemblance - do they just sneak in here and SHOW UP like that?! Because I ran into your dad with my DICK OUT, and I'm pretty sure all your brothers were thinking of ways to fucking SKIN ME."

Audie blinks, staring back at me with a very thinly-concealed rage burning beneath the surface. "My mother found me lying naked in bed with an empty bottle, covered in cake and _cum_. Let's call it even."

I relax my back, slouching lower onto the couch as I rub my face. "No, seriously, though. Do they just come in like that? Because that's bullshit."

She flops onto her back with a groan. "No, they don't... and don't go thinking I didn't remind her that I gave her that key for _emergencies_."

I stare at the ceiling, listening to the silence that after so long has returned to the apartment. "I heard some, uh... some choice words from in there."

"Don't."

"I wasn't, I wasn't... I mean, unless you _wanted_ to talk about it."

"No... we've always done that. We get along really well, usually, I don't want you thinking we're dysfunctional or anything. I love my mom, she just... she's got this old-fashioned streak, and she gets weird ideas sometimes, and I'm the only one who'll scream loud enough to show her when they're _stupid_. She's sweet, really."

I sigh. "Sounds kinda nice, actually."

"What does?"

"Parents who always want to see you."

"...Oh, _nice_. Gonna make it all about you on  _my_ fucking birthday, dick?" she asks, kicking me jokingly.

"Maybe I'm just trying to show you how good you've got it!" I laugh, trying to dodge.

"All I've got now is a mooch of a fake ex-boyfriend who needs to get his ass off my couch and into a job."

"A mooch?! Didn't I bring you cake and booze this morning?" I cry, feigning shock.

"Yeah, all right, not a _total_ mooch. Least you're handy to have around, anyway." Her phone buzzes, startling her, which startles me. She picks it up and shakes her head at the message. "What the hell did you _say_ to him?" she asks, looking to me with an eyebrow cocked.

I raise my paws in front of me. "Hey, I barely said anything." Besides the semi-xenophobic rant about bearings, I mean. I said very little if you don't count that.

"Dude, my dad just texted me. He _never_ does that."

I think on that for a moment. Is that supposed to mean something? It's clearly strange to her, otherwise she wouldn't have mentioned it. "What'd he say?"

She bites her lips, trying to restrain her laughter. "He wants to know if my _boyfriend_ wants to go fishing sometime!" she cries, howling with laughter as the words leave her lips.


	48. Pot of Gold

You'd think, wouldn't you, that in a city with a significant nocturnal population - predator and prey alike - that an insurance company could find a doctor's office open during the night. Wouldn't you? I would. But I'm just going to have to accept that a normal sleep schedule, whatever that means in an artificial environment like this city, is counterproductive to my life as it is. I could sleep during the night and go to every audition I can sneak into, but lose any time with my friends, or I can sleep during the day and haunt every bar that will open their doors and their stage to me while missing any chance of actual acting work. The only options I can come up with to best meet my needs are to sleep at sunrise and sunset, in direct opposition to any semblance of natural order, or to just sneak naps when I can, particularly while riding the train. I can set an alarm on my phone to wake me when I'm likely to arrive at my intended stop! Clever, right? You'd think that, wouldn't you.

I run from the train station, ten minutes _after_ it was supposed to arrive, and look for the nearest bus stop. There's a bus. It's already stopped. I dash towards it, my miniscule legs a blur of red, as I try to read the headsign. _Kumquat_. That's my bus! STOP MOVING, YOU BASTARD! "STOP THE BUS! GODDAMNIT, STOP THE BUUUUUS!" I yell, waving one paw frantically as the other clutches my ragged messenger bag close. The bus isn't moving. The doors are open, the driver's outside, my tendency to assume the worst in unwarranted - _this time_. The driver looks up from his phone long enough to give me an annoyed look.

"Really??" he asks, lolling his bony head in disbelief. Fuck this sod-sucking, cud-chewing, antler-headed... I catch myself. It's not _his_ fault his ancestors selected for survivability over intelligence. Does that thought make me specist? I don't think of myself as a specist, but I dread the day I get drunk and someone brings up seals. But that's - I mean, I don't hate seals, and certainly not ALL of them. I dislike the ones that try to claim all the sea, all the fish, and all the beaches as their absolute fucking birthright, but... I mean, that's more a difference of belief than actual _specism_. Right?

I catch my breath, plodding the last few meters toward the bus and waving my bus pass weakly. "I've... got... an appointment..." The driver shakes his head and motions for me to board, returning his attention to his phone instead of doing his fucking job. I wave my bus pass past the scanner and head to one of the smaller seats, ignoring the wary looks of the other passengers around me. They're the specists, I think, not me. Shrinking away from a guy who just needs to get somewhere...

Motion catches my eye. A little bunny boy, can't be more than four or five, is waving for my attention. As soon as he sees me looking, he shouts his question for all to hear. "HEY MISTER, CAN YOU REALLY SMELL FEAR?" His mother jerks, nearly dropping her phone as she gathers him up and guides him to a different seat with an apologetic smile.

I rub my nose and a long draw of the air inside the bus. A distinct aroma fills my nostrils; ten thousand years of civilization don't have  _shit_ on millions of years of evolution, so I figure I may as well be honest. "Yeah, I sure can." I slouch in my seat, reaching for my own phone as the driver climbs back aboard. Open Zmail. Spam... spam... spam... crap... I sigh, seeing another email beginning with the phrase 'We're sorry to inform you.' _Fuck_. Why do I even try? Nobody gives a shit who you are in this city unless you know someone or you're blowing them, so I'm stuck with open calls to audition for store openings, half-assed schemes thought up by coked-up idiots with delusions of grandeur, or - if I'm lucky - TV commercials that'll play once or twice. Television commercials, the last gasp of an industry in decline as more and more mammals switch to streaming or pirating shows over paying to access hundreds of channels society could do well without.

 

I arrive at Cost-Conscious Family Care with mere minutes to spare before my appointment, and it seems like I'm their last one for the day. Half the lights are already off, mammals in scrubs are leaving, and the waiting area is empty save for me, an ancient receptionist, and a collection of magazines probably dating back to my birth. I shuffle across the worn-out carpet towards the front desk and climb the steps, peeking over the counter. "Hi, uh, I have an appointment."

The crone looks to me and smiles, offering me a pen and some forms. "Just fill out that top section and someone will be out soon," she croaks, looking back to her... typewriter, I guess. I can't see anything below the counter, but I have trouble imagining her using a computer for some reason. I'm probably wrong. She's probably better with computers than I am. I fill a few lines, check a couple boxes, and hand the form back. "I'll get this right to them," she responds, inching away through a door.

I look around, perhaps expecting something to happen, but nothing does. I head off with a shrug to find a seat - the one with the fewest stains on its aged, plastic surface - and wait. I check my phone, more out of habit than any need to really do anything with it. There's no way I'm touching any of these magazines, _that's_ for goddamn sure. I eventually settle on playing one of the combination spyware/advertisement/games I've downloaded, all of which I regret, and poke at letters in an effort to find the longest word before time runs... that is  _so_ a goddamn word!! What dictionary were these brainless troglodytes using when they made this, and how many pages was it miss-

I'm interrupted by a feminine voice. "Mister Cadogan?" I look up and meet my summoner's gaze. A very tired-looking, very small, and very pregnant cat with a clipboard is beckoning me toward the exam room. I shove my phone back in my bag and drop off my chair, shuffling towards her, following her through the door. "Okay, I'm going to let the doctor know you're here. Just strip down and get into the gown and I'll be right back, okay?" She smiles, disappearing through another door without so much as an acknowledgement on my part. I sigh, thinking of the numerous things I could be doing right now, chief among them getting some fucking _sleep_. On the other paw, though, a free physical isn't something to pass up when you can't remember how long ago the last one was. I toss my clothes onto a chair and slip into the gown just as the nurse returns.

"All right. If you wouldn't mind getting on the scale," she suggests, leaving the sentence unfinished as she waits. I step onto the pad and she notes my weight, coming in closer to operate some lever over my head. "Stand up straight." I straighten without thinking. I'm too tired to consciously evaluate every command, and her voice is so calm and soothing... I wonder if that's a practiced skill, or her natural tone. It must help with child patients. "Big for your breed, huh?" she remarks, reaching for a few instruments. "Go ahead and take a seat on the table and we'll get a little more out of you." I grunt softly and hop onto the table as she wraps a bag... bladder... the blood-pressure machine around my arm. She presses a stethoscope into the pit of my elbow and pumps, staring at the clock on the wall, before checking the gauge and writing more notes with a frown. "Deep breaths," she says, moving the end of the stethoscope to my chest. "Okay. Do you have any allergies, aches and pains, difficulty breathing, anything you'd like the doctor to look at?"

I shake my head, then stop. "Oh... uh, I cut my paw a while back and the stitches are really annoying. Don't- don't ask who did the stitches. I really couldn't say."

She looks at my palm and winces, scribbling a few more notes on her clipboard. " _Yikes_. Well, it doesn't look infected, but we'll see if we can't do anything for you while you're here. Just sit tight and the doctor will be in momentarily, okay?" She offers another warm smile as she exits, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I take a slow breath and look at myself in the wall mirror. Tired, stressed, with my tail hanging out of a paper gown... I figured if I'd ever found myself in a situation like this, I'd either be too nuts or too medicated to notice. Maybe I really should have stayed across the pond. At least they don't charge you for basic medical care, but I never really felt at home. Heh. Heheh. I didn't feel _at home_ , so I moved thousands of kilometers away to another fucking country, one where I had no friends, no connections, no family, and no citizenship. I sigh, shaking my head. I wonder if there's legal definition for dumbass, and if it's got my picture attached.

 

My thoughts are cut short by the door opening once again, this time admitting a pudgy woodchuck. He drags a stool over to me and sits himself upon it, staring at me quietly and occasionally looking at his clipboard. "Now, are you _sure_ you're what you say, or is there some doubt?"

I pull back slightly, surprised. I really shouldn't be; this isn't the first time I've heard that question, and I expect I'll hear it as long as I live. "Uh, _yeah_ , I'm sure. I've met my parents and I unfortunately take after them both."

He waves a paw and speaks gruffly, if calmly. "There's no need for hostility. Believe it or not, I've seen stranger claims. Mink and polecat, though... didn't know the two could breed." His eyes have been fixed on his clipboard since my answer.

I sigh, reaching into the vault for one of my most common retorts. "Yeah, neither did they. Can we leave that as it lies for now? That's more a matter for a therapist or something, isn't it?"

He shrugs. "If you're okay with that. Your coat, is that a dye job or natural?"

I run a paw down my other arm, feeling more defensive. "It's natural."

He nods, scribbling something. "Mhm. Were your parents large for their species?"

I think for a moment. I grew like a weed, and it's been a while since they were any bigger than me. "Average, I think."

He nods again, still focused on his clipboard. "Interesting. Well, I have a few questions for you that Lena didn't ask. Do you drink, smoke, or use recreational drugs?"

I blink. "Yeah."

He writes a few notes. "Need to be a little more specific."

"Oh. Yes, yes, and yes."

He clearly wanted me to be more specific than even that. "How much, and which drugs?"

"Hey, there's not a wire in here, right? I mean, I thought this was a checkup for _injuries_."

He sighs and looks at me. "It is. But while your insurance company is paying me to find anything they can blame on the other guy, I have a duty as a doctor to evaluate your health. How much, and which drugs?"

I look away, feeling small for a moment. "I don't smoke as much as I used to. I do smoke nip kind of regularly, I drink more than I should... okay, I drink a lot, but I don't go near other drugs."

He looks back to his clipboard and writes some more, furrowing his brow. "Diet?"

"I'm not on a diet, unless being too poor to eat is a diet."

He sighs without sighing, somehow. He just closes his eyes and dips his head slightly for a second, then looks back to his clipboard. "I mean what _is_ your diet. What do you eat, how much, and how frequently."

"Oh. Fish, mostly. I can't eat just bugs, and I don't like carbs. I usually eat a little when I get up, I eat lunch, then I eat a little dinner. Lunch is my biggest meal, usually."

"How is it prepared?"

"Most of it's dried and salted, some of it's pickled. Lately I haven't had much of anything fresh."

He purses his lips, thinking. "Sleep?"

"Not enough."

"I thought so. Sex life?"

"Isn't that a little personal?"

"Please, sir. I'm a doctor."

"Yeah, it's... it's a thing. I don't have any complaints."

"Do you use protection?"

"Well, I recently found out I'm sterile, so even if I-"

He interrupts me, without looking up, in the same calm tone. "I'm sure the Zootopia Medical Society will be interested to hear gonorrhea and syphilis only infect the fertile."

Ah. Well, there is that. "I- no, see, it... it's just with the one girl, but we're both... I mean we don't have anything. Not that's contagious, anyway, I'm pretty sure stupidity isn't sexually transmitted," I stammer, feeling my face heat up.

He just sits there. "Oh I've seen young guys like you do crazy things to get in someone's pants, don't be so sure. How's your home environment?"

I sigh. "I haven't got one. I _used_ to, but it got destroyed on the freeway and that's why I'm here."

"I don't mean your _home_ , I mean the environment you live in, but that answer narrows it down a bit. Motel, friend's place, homeless shelter? Calm or stressful?"

"I'm staying with a friend. Calm? Do you think there's anywhere in this city that's even remotely calm? The nip can only do so much, man, this place is an unending fucking nightmare, and if I'd had an ounce of sense in me a year and a half ago I'd have stayed where healthcare is _free_."

He looks up again and fixes his eyes on mine for a moment. "What do you do for a living?"

I hang my head slightly. "I've got a job in a fish shop that feeds me, but I'm a comic. I'm not a good one, but I make folks laugh, and it makes a little... well, very little money. Not what I planned on."

He looks back to his clipboard and makes a few more notes. "Lena said something about stitches on your paw." I hold out my left paw, palm up, for him to see. He visibly jerks when he looks. "Cheese and crackers, where'd you get those, an alley?!"

I flutter my lips in resignation. "Pretty close, actually."

He shakes his head, sounding upset. "You're damn lucky that hasn't gotten infected, probably lose the whole paw for God's sake... I haven't seen work like that outside a goddamn war zone."

I look toward the ceiling, considering a few things. "Yeah... yeah, probably where they learned it. Itches like fuck, think you can do something about it?"

"Yeah, I can pull those out and wrap it, but it's healed enough that you're gonna have a Franken-paw for the rest of your life." He returns slowly from his near-anger to his usual calm tone of voice, clearly more upset with the butcher who sewed me together wrong than with me for having been so poorly mended. "Anything else bothering you? Heartburn, constipation, frequent urination... do you want me to go down the list, or do you want to just think about it?"

I'd rather think about it. "Not really, I mean, I'm still young enough to not have any real issues, I think. My knees work, my paws don't- well, the one paw doesn't hurt currently, the other one's pretty obviously mangled."

The doctor nods. "No headache, stiffness, soreness, anything from the crash?"

"I was pretty stiff for a while, and I'm a little sore on occasion, but I think the worst of it's gone away. I actually crashed into a recliner, flew right through the windshield and into the backrest."

He blinks and slowly looks up from his notes. "A recliner."

I shrug. "Yeah. Big one. Fell off some fuckhead's trailer and right onto my van."

He looks back down. "Well, that could have been worse. Anyhow, I think we're just about done here. I can easily take care of your paw - what little's _left_ of it - before you go, but there are a couple things you should really take into consideration." He looks back up to me, almost expectantly.

"...And what are those?"

"Well, the first is that you seem depressed. And to be honest, if I were in your place, I'd be pretty depressed, too. No home, no gainful employment, stressful life situation all around. Plus, you said you're a comic, and from what I understand that's practically a job requirement." I feel the corner of my mouth twitch, but I resist the urge to smirk. "I can offer you a few options there, but I'd much rather send you to a specialist than just write you a prescription and throw you out the door."

I take a moment to reflect. Who _isn't_ depressed these days? When you think about it, depression seems to be the norm anymore, so is it truly a condition? Maybe the ones who aren't depressed are the weird ones. They're the ones with a condition, if you go by the law of common-makes-normal that I just made up. "What's the other one?"

"Now that one, I _will_ be writing you a prescription if you'll let me. Kid, your blood pressure is through the goddamn roof, and I don't think it's just your diet and your habits. You could definitely cut back on... basically everything you said, the salt, the drinking, the smoking, and especially the stress, but I've never seen anyone your age with that kind of blood pressure where there wasn't something weird going on. And buddy, you kind of _are_ something weird going on, if you don't mind me saying."

I stare back, shaking my head slightly in astonishment. "Uh... so, what then? Just nature playing another trick with my fucked-up genetics, or something?"

He rocks his head a bit, thinking. "Fucked-up? If that's the way you've been thinking of yourself, you could probably make a difference with a bit of an attitude shift. Trust me on this, I've seen it work. Instead of fucked-up, try thinking of yourself as..." he trails off, considering a few things. "Try limited edition. Or something else, anything may work as long as it's a little nicer than 'fucked-up.' But besides that and a few simple lifestyle changes, I'd like to get you on at least a low-dose ACE inhibitor, at least to start with."

I scratch my chin. "What'll happen if I don't?"

"If you don't what? Take a little care of yourself?" He takes a deep breath, leaning back in thought. "Lot of things can go wrong with untreated hypertension. You could burst a blood vessel. If it happens in your eye, you could lose the use of that eye, but there's more than just things going 'pop.' Kidney failure, heart disease, stroke, hemmorrhage... you could be sitting down, completely relaxed and suffer a brain aneurysm. I'm not saying any of these would happen _tomorrow_ , but you're a lot more likely to live long enough to see one or more than not, and you're a lot more likely to live even longer and see none of them if you take some precautions now."

I feel a chill go down my spine as I'm faced so suddenly with the prospect of my own mortality. "So blood pressure medication, right?" I'd really rather not pop like a fucking water balloon.

He nods. "To start with. Don't forget about the rest of it: less salt, less drinking, less smoking, less stress. I understand some of those are easier than others, but I'm not saying you have to stop it all overnight. You work on those and get this prescription filled," he adds, pulling a pad from his pocket and scribbling madly. "Do that and come back in a month, and we'll see where to go from there."

He hands me the slip and watches me as I stare at it. "Shit, I... I don't think I can afford this. Or another checkup, to be honest."

He almost rolls his eyes. "Look, I didn't name this place 'Damn the Cost Family Care.' The city has programs for mammals who can't afford medicine, and we do what we have to keep the doors open to help folks who maybe can't afford frequent doctor visits. Things like taking cases from insurance companies who want us to find something wrong," he adds, winking. "There are brochures on the wall. Take as many as you want, one of them should have something to help you with the prescription cost." With a quick motion, he turns and pulls a small cart over and faces me again. "Now let's do something about that paw."

 

I trudge along the sidewalk, my mind so full of worries that it's decided to ignore all of my problems and concentrate on prose, just on the off-chance that something good might come out of this day. Let's see. Setting sun, what can I rhyme with that... shadows run? Fuck, this already sounds like trite garbage, and I don't even _have_ anything. I suppose I could ditch the rhyme and go with alliteration, who does alliterative verse anymore? Nobody, that's who. The setting sun summates seven cycles starting Sunday; the sleepy, soulless servant surmises, softly sighing, 'Someday...' I kind of wonder why that died out. Or iambic verse, that used to be _huge_. But the only mammals getting paid to think about meter and verse work for record companies, stuffed into tiny rooms and forced to put out the next top-forty piece of shit that nobody will remember in three months' time.

Speaking of music, I've found my stop. The windows of the Electric Embryo are dark when I first look, but the lights blink on as I approach, and the aged neon 'open' sign flickers to life. I grip the door and strain, dragging it open just enough to slip through, setting off the chime. Harry looks around from his perch behind the counter, finally turning his gaze downward as I shuffle into the main aisle. "Shit, hey, dude! You're up early, what's up?"

"Stayed up all day. Made it to four auditions, saw a doctor. I think I'm just about ready to check out, honestly."

"Naw, man, don't think like that," he coos, climbing down from his stool and waddling over to pat my shoulder. "Tell me how it went. I bet you blew some fuckers' brains out their ears at your auditions."

I groan. "Fuck _every one_ of those jobs. I mean, I think I did pretty well at one of them, and it'll probably pay decently if I get it, but would _you_ want to be a leprechaun in a J. G. Wentwolf commercial?"

He swallows a chuckle, smiling at me. "You think folks want to work at _Bug Burga?_ You think Audie wants to work at PawPrints?? Most folks fuckin' _hate_ their jobs, dude, even if it's something they want to do. Did the doctor look at your fucked-up paw?" he asks, pointing to my freshly-bandaged left paw.

"Uh... yeah. Took the stitches out, but it's gonna look like shit forever."

He shrugs. "Could be worse, man. Least you got your health, right?"

I sigh. "Fuckin'... NOPE. First he says I'm probably depressed, which... well yeah, _obviously_. Then he tells me I'm basically a blood-pressure time bomb, and it's probably because of my fucked-up genes. Now I need to find some way to pay for blood pressure pills so I won't fall over dead at any moment, and that stresses me out more, which probably raises my blood pressure, which means I'm even _more_ likely to fucking die, which just makes me even more fucking depressed!" I lift a paw to clutch my head, telling myself to just breathe. Am I overreacting? You know what, fuck it, I've earned this. It's not every day you find out your own body's out to kill you.

Harry shakes his head, gripping my shoulder. "You'll be fine, dude, don't fuckin' sweat it. But I've got a prescription for you, too." He leads me to a large vent in the back wall and pulls the cover off with ease, directing me inside. "Kind of a tight fit for me, but you'll probably be fine." I crouch down and crawl into the duct, pushing my way past a beaded curtain into a back room decorated with band posters, a few large cushions, and a giant lava lamp. Harry squeezes through the duct behind me and reaches into a small refrigerator. "You wanna fuckin' relax? Doctor Harry's got you covered, bro." He offers me a cookie the size of my head and points to the corner. "The speaker there plays the same music as the rest of the shop, I'll put on something nice for ya. Welcome to your fuckin' cavern of calmness, you can stop here any time we're open."

I stare at the confection in my paws, knowing full well that it's going to both put me in a coma and fucking _destroy_ my intestines. But the doctor didn't say shit about _them_ going bad, so fuck it.


	49. Free Lunch

"That's it for me, folks, here's the guy you're actually here to see, a very good friend of mine, HARRY, GET UP HERE YOU FAT FUCK." I set the microphone on its stand and bump fists with Harry as we pass each other, climbing down from the stage to sit at our usual spot in the corner. Customers tend to avoid this table, because while it's close to the stage, it doesn't provide a very good view. It's too far off to the side; actions and expressions don't have a 180-degree spread. It probably helps that there's usually two or three of us already sitting there by the time anyone shows up, as well. I take my seat and look to the sweaty rum and tonic waiting for me, a sliver of lime stuck on the rim of the glass. I toss this over my shoulder. What do I want with fruit? I take my first sip and breathe a tired sigh, looking over towards Harry as he begins his set.

"Hey folks, come on and give that little fucker a round of applause. He's in a rough patch, show him a little love," Harry shouts into the mic, pointing towards me. It's unnecessary, but it's not necessarily unappreciated. "Go ahead... all right, that's enough. I don't want him feeling too good, I'm about to start talkin' some shit and I don't want him falling too far." Laughter. I wish I knew how he made folks laugh so easily; is it his tone? His timing? Maybe that joke of mine is true, that I open for my friends because I'm so _un_ funny that it makes them seem funnier than they really are. But that's bullshit, I know. My friends are fucking hilarious. I just wish I knew exactly why folks laugh their tits off at some of the things I say; if I could figure that out, I might have a future doing this.

Harry continues. "Now I want to make it clear I'm not trying to make him feel bad by saying this, but he should know that I can't keep gold like this away from a microphone. Recently he was in a pretty bad car crash... some of you probably know from his act that he's been living in his van, which means that he was in a pretty bad _home_ crash as well." It's got to be his tone. Their alcohol consumption definitely helps. Part of my job as an opener is to make sure they buy drinks in the hopes that I'll appear funnier. "But I feel for him, of course I do. I'm his friend. As gross as it was, that van was his home, and when I got to the scene of the accident, he was madder than I've _ever_ seen him. Understandably so. I don't know if any of you have noticed, but he's kinda an angry guy." Another laugh.

"So I get there with Norm - if any of you are regulars, you know Norm. I'll talk about him later, because if I'm shit-talkin' one of my friends, I gotta shit-talk another just to be fair." Maybe he's telepathic, and he's mentally suggesting to the audience that they laugh... no, that's stupid. I'd be feeling the same urge, wouldn't I? But I _am_ kind of chuckling. Maybe his magic can't overcome my natural stubornness. "So here's the thing... when I got there, he wanted to know who caused the accident. He didn't want to go to the hospital, he didn't want to go to the police station, or anything. But he didn’t want to know who the other guy was so he could sue him, you know, like anyone else would, no. He wanted to know who they guy was so he could challenge him to a fucking _duel_. Never mind the fact that the guy’s probably as big as his fucking van, his first thought was ‘I want to cut this motherfucker.' See, a lot of you might not know this, but Reese actually grew up in Viking times. It’s true! I found him frozen in an iceberg and taught him how to use a cell phone myself."

 

I sigh, propping my head up with one paw as I lean against the table. Harry, Audie, and Norm are all eagerly shoving food in their joke-holes as I glance occasionally toward my own meal... if it can be called such a thing. What it really is, if you ask me, is a poor attempt at edibility. Take the cheapest granulated insect protein, douse it in a pungent red sauce, slather it in what LOOKS like sour cream, and wrap it lazily in a thin, starch-based disc, and you've got what turns out to be the (barely) most edible item on this establishment's menu. I'm _almost_ hungry enough to eat it, but I'm not drunk enough. That's kind of important.

I feel eyes on me. I look across the table and meet Harry's gaze directly, waiting patiently as he eats his burrito. "What."

He shrugs. "Nothin'. Aren't you gonna eat?"

I sit back and rub my forehead. "I don't know. I'm not that hungry right now."

"You need a little appetizer?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Really? We're in public, Harry. I know you can do a lot of heinous shit in a La Cucaracha, but I'm pretty sure they'd let us shit on the floor before they let us get high in here." I've seen terrifying things on the floor in these places. I'm very close to the floor, I see everything down here. "Besides, I don't need anything that might get me into shit."

Norm gives me a look. I know that goddamn look. At least his mouth is full, so he's not saying what I know he's thinking. Unfortunately, Harry's mouth is not. "If you ask me, dude, you could really use something to take the edge off. I've got a one-hitter in my-"

"I DON'T WANT TO GET FUCKING HIGH RIGHT NOW," I shout, loud enough that the low murmur around the restaurant pauses for a moment. I don't really care. Everyone in here besides us is drunk enough that they don't care, but I can tell I've surprised my friends, and not in a good way. "I'm sorry... it's just that nip won't solve _any_ of my problems right now, and I have to go out and do things, all right? I mean, I've got to go into the middle of downtown - fucking cop city - and try to talk to someone at the consulate because I can't afford this fucking prescription. If I'm high all the time I'm just gonna sit on Audie's couch instead of looking for work, so how does nip help me there?" I slump on the bench, pulling my glasses off to massage my brow.

I twitch as something touches my shoulder, but I release my breath when I realize it's Audie rubbing me in an effort to calm my ass. "You'll be fine, Reese," she says, softly, and I close my eyes as I acknowledge that I desperately want to believe her. Unfortunately, 'fine' can be a vague thing, even a non-answer in many cases. You could be stuck in a tedious dead-end job, locked in a loveless marriage, facing the likelihood that you'll never be able to afford to retire, and if anyone asks how you're doing, your answer would be 'Fine.' Fine is what folks say when they need a shoulder to cry on, a pillow to scream into, or a drug to fuck their brain out their earhole with. But compared with my current situation, I'd just about kill to be fine right now.

Norm finishes his drink and looks at me. "Why you gotta go to the consulate? Paperwork or somethin'?"

"Fuckin'... if I'm lucky. I hold citizenship with two countries that actually take _care_ of their citizens, so hopefully one of them will help me pay for this medication. If I'm not lucky, which I expect, they'll send me off with a 'sorry, but no.'"

He looks to Audie, then Harry, then back to me. "What you need medication for? Between Harry and me, I'm sure we know somebody who can get it."

Harry shakes his head. "Not a lot of guys sellin' their blood pressure pills in back alleys, bro," he says, searching for any taco crumbs he may have missed. "First off, they're prescribed for a good reason, and second, they're just not fun. Nobody's gonna buy shit that's not fun."

Norm looks at me again. "Shit, you _just_ figured out you had blood pressure problems?! I'm not even a doctor, and I knew you had somethin' wrong."

"Did you think of that just now? You should be a fucking comedian," I snark, poking my rapidly-cooling burrito.

Harry raises a paw, trying for my attention. "Wait a minute. Why are you going to a consulate? Last you said, you had a whole armful of brochures and shit. Zootopia has prescription-assistance shit, I fuckin' _know_ they do, my mom's been on it since forever."

I throw my paws in the air. "Yeah. Yeah they do, except you need to be a citizen, or you need to have a kid to qualify. Or you need to have a job, which I fucking _don't_ , so I'm pretty much fucked on that front."

He shrugs. "Well, what about your insurance money? They totaled your van, I'm sure, so they should be cutting you a check, right?"

"Yeah, because insurance companies always pay out as soon as possible, right?" I look to Audie, surprised that she said almost exactly what I was thinking, albeit without swearing. She gives me a shrug in response. "What? They're gonna drag their feet, everyone who's dealt with car insurance knows that. You'll be lucky to see any money from them for a month."

I run a paw over my head and breathe a tired sigh. "Yeah... that sounds about right. Go ahead and fight over my burrito if you want, I'll see you all later."

 

I arrive at the Britannian consulate just as they open their doors - I think. There's someone walking in, anyway, so I'll just follow them in and wait. Easy, right? The ewe waves a card past the lock and it beeps, allowing her to open the door. With a few long, quick hops I make it to the door, just in time for her to stomp a hoof down in my path and glare at me. "And just where do you think you're going?" she asks, almost contemptuous in her manner.

I stare back at her, quiet for several seconds as I try to grasp what's happening. FUCK, DID I LET MYSELF HOPE AGAIN? GODDAMNIT! I clear my throat and step back, gripping the strap of my bag. "I, uh, I need to speak with someone about-"

"Have you got an appointment? We don't open for another fifteen minutes, and I cannot allow you in either way."

I droop slightly, collecting my jumbled thoughts. Twenty-four hour city, significant nocturnal population, but everything important is only open during the day... I feel like I've had that thought recently. Britannian citizens pride themselves on polite manners and the ability to stand in long lines, but this bi- this woman is curt almost to the point of open disdain! Ignore those thoughts. They're not important right now, they can be addressed later over alcohol. "Can I make an appointment _now?_ I really need to talk to someone about getting some help with medication costs, I'm-"

She interrupts me again. "I'm sorry, but even if I could make you an appointment, I'm afraid our services are only available to Britannian citizens, and-"

Now it's my turn. "WILL YOU LET ME FINISH!" I scream, doing myself no favors. She steps inside and shuts the door behind her, turning her nose up at me as she continues inside. For fuck's sake, couldn't I have lasted FIVE MINUTES without putting my foot in my mouth?! I find myself banging on the door while the functional part of my brain struggles to consider this, just in time to notice three men in dark suits coming from deeper inside the building. FUCK! I turn and run, scrambling down the sidewalk as fast as my tiny legs can carry me, ducking under a small shrub and keeping still. I watch for several moments, barely allowing myself to breathe, until I'm certain they haven't followed me.

I crawl out from under the bush and sit on the sidewalk, thoroughly upset with myself. I shouldn't have even tried, I tell myself, staring across the street, clogged with early-morning traffic. If it weren't for one fuckhead and the fatass chair he bought for his fatass... ass, I could be passed out right now right next to these cars and not even hear any of their obnoxious honking. _Fuck_. And if I even try to make an appointment with those limey fucks, they'll just recognize me the moment I step through their door and I'll be in a cell with... I don't know, probably terror charges looming over me. FUCK!

I shoulder my bag and begin a long walk to the nearest bus stop. Fuck it, I'll try Tundratown. There's probably someone who needs a skilled set of paws to clean herring, and I'm certainly not trying Kalmar's fucking consulate. I've been raised too long in Lundøye, I can't bring myself to ask _them_ for help. What's that saying? You can take the troll out of the islands, but you can't take the islands out of the troll? I'm paraphrasing, obviously.

 

After what feels like hours of travel time, I arrive at the cleverly-named Tundratown Fish Market. Fuck this unimaginative city, how the hell is THIS the place where artists make breakthroughs?! Because this is where the money is, I answer myself. The fat capitalist fucks who make their living off exploiting the artist, the worker, and the craftsman all live here for convenience, or they put their offices here and build island-sized mansions nearby, besmirching the landscape with whatever trendy architecture happens to be in style. I walk into the main exchange and... I can't see a fucking thing. The place is crowded, and all these motherfuckers are twelve times my size at the smallest! Fuck!

I approach a stall and flag down the otter behind the counter, shouting over the din of commerce. "Excuse me. Excuse me!"

"Yeah?" she replies, the stress of the mid-morning rush evident in her voice.

"I'm looking for work. I have years of experience cleaning and preparing fish, are you hiring?"

She cocks her head, looking at me as though nobody's ever asked her that. "Are you serious?! Get the hell out of here and stop wasting my time, I've got customers waiting!" she shouts, waving a paw to shoo me away. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose with my middle finger as I turn away to try another stall.

"Hey! Excuse me, I need a job, are you hiring?" I ask, trying the next stall. The caribou cranes his neck over his counter to get a better look at me and laughs.

"Hiring? Yeah, we're hiring, but what can I do with you? What do you think I'm selling here, anchovies? Kid, half my stock is twice your size. Thanks but no thanks." He turns to the next mammal in line, barking orders over his shoulder to his monstrous assistants.

For the next half-hour I make my way around the market, being turned down at every booth, laughed at by some, and cursed at by others. I pull off my glasses to rub my face, sighing in resignation as I walk out the door. I guess I'll try the docks. Fishing boats can always use an extra pair of paws, and sometimes little ones like mine can be just as good. Baiting hooks is easy enough. As I begin my long walk toward the harbor, though, a shadow looms over me, blocking out the sun.

Now, I'm not proud of how I react to things like this, but I think it's valid that a small mammal like myself might be terrified of big fuckers LOOMING OVER ME. I leap to the side, screaming, and reflexively reach into my bag to grip the long knife I keep hidden within. The polar bear who'd apparently been following me is surprised by this turn of events, and merely stares at me for a moment as I cool off.

"What the FUCK are you doing, goddamnit?! Do you always go around trying to scare the shit out of small mammals, or did you not realize that you're a fucking giant?!" I screech, leaving my trusty blade in the bag.

The bear laughs, clutching his gut. "That's a good one! Oh shit, I have to remember that. You, you looking for work, yeah? Come with me, I bring you where the work is."

"What kind of work?" I ask, understandably curious. "I'm good at cleaning fish, baiting hooks, piloting - I have a license. It's not from here, but it's recognized."

He waves a paw. "Don't worry about it. You come with me, I take you where the work is," he repeats himself, beckoning me to follow.

"Uh... okay, but do you mind if I hang on? I've got little legs." He lets out another laugh, shaking his head and lowering a massive paw to me. I scamper up his sleeve and cling to his shoulder, ignoring the vague feeling in my gut that tells me to turn around and get my ass to the docks. That's probably just my stomach, anyway. I'm fucking starving, and I could probably score some of the bycatch for a mere joke.

 

I shake myself awake, having fallen asleep on the way to... wherever the fuck this is. Some shitty warehouse, the kind where every other episode of every crime show begins. I half expect to see a body laying on the ground, frozen, with a knife in its chest. ...Wait, am _I_ gonna be the body?! Nah, that shit doesn't happen in real life. And if it does, it's never random, I think ninety-nine percent of murder victims knew whoever killed them, or something. Besides, it's not like I have enemies.

The warehouse, despite its nondescript exterior, is rather more lavish indoors. No; lavish is too weak a word. These marble floors, this fine wood paneling, this molded-plaster ceiling is sumptuous, opulent, even - dare I say! - _refulgent_. We leave the foyer and its rich woolen rugs behind and enter a maze of hallways, heading ever onward as my cautiousness and worry are beaten viciously and ruthlessly by my curiosity and my desire to not starve. How bad can this be, anyway? Unless I die here, it can't be that bad compared to some of my other decisions.

We pass through a set of large doors - large even for the goon whose shoulder I'm riding - and enter a grand hall packed with drinks, revelers, games, food, and in the center of the room, a sand-floored ring. In the ring are two of the flashiest, most supremely active chickens I've ever laid eyes- oh shit this is a cockfight. Not just a cockfight, but apparently a high-class cockfight, if you can call the sort of lowlifes who'd attend even a _fancy_ cockfight 'high-class.' The goon reaches up and wraps one giant paw around me, holding a little tighter than I'd like, but by now I think that might be fully intentional. He holds me in the face of an aging, surly-looking yak who beckons to someone standing to his side. "Is this the one?" he asks, as I come face-to-face with a very familiar and _very_ upset boar with scars all over his snout.

The boar snorts. "That's him." With that little confirmation, the yak nods and I find myself shoved into a wire cage beside the kingpin's seat. I rush the door, only to smack face-first into it as it shuts, and promptly begin panicking. Fuck. The whole night comes back to me: the three burglars, the expensive fish, the trout costume... how safe I felt after Fedor came in and scared them off. Only temporarily safe, as it turns out. Fuck. Audie was right. I should have quit that fucking job. Now I'm trapped in some mobster's fucking casino all because I can't stand fucking bugs for every meal!

The man beside me sighs, already growing tired of my mad scrambling so near his person. "Why are you thrashing? You're not getting out of there. Just settle down and accept it."

The absolute insanity of that statement is the only thing that could possibly have broken me from my desperate struggle. "Accept it? _Accept_ it?! Just what the FUCK kind of drugs are you on that you think I'm going- that I even COULD accept this? For starters, although I have some idea, I don't even know what the FUCK I'm accepting! And you, FUCK YOU. Who the fuck are you to put me in a fucking cage on that thieving goddamn pig's word?!"

He brushes a stray hair from his nose. "That 'thieving pig' works for me, and if he says you scarred his face up, who am I to argue? I owe it to my men and women to look after them, and to enact vengeance should they become hurt."

I shake my head. "Well that's very noble and philosophical for whatever kind of criminal asshole you are, but doesn't that kind of come with the job of being a thief and a mobster? You think I should have just LET your idiot... BUTT-MINIONS just steal that shit and put MY job at risk?!"

He looks down at me with a sigh. "You know, for someone in your position, you've got a real mouth on you."

"Yeah, well, for all I know I'm gonna die in the next fifteen minutes. Ever hear of the five stages of grief? I'm just into the 'anger' stage right now, and I don't see a way out of this, so I figure I'm gonna spit some fucking vitriol at you while I still can."

The yak chuckles. He fucking chuckles at me, shaking his head. "Well, I suppose I can't fault you for that. It's certainly not doing me any harm, so go right ahead!" he laughs, motioning for some other brainless goon to bring him a drink.

 

I don't know how long I've been bitching this guy out, but I think I'm actually getting to him. He's grinding his teeth and I _know_ he's not chewing cud. He waves a hoof in the air and the noise - the loud chatter, the rattling of dice, and the shuffling of cards - ceases in an instant. "Ladies and gentlemen. I know this is a little premature, but I can't stand another minute of this little fuck's mouth, so we're pushing up the fight." A confused cheer half-starts, almost like the crowd has shrugged vocally. "After that, go back to your games, your drinks... you know what, half-price on drinks for the next hour."

As for me, I've run out of insults in English and have changed languages. I'm certain he doesn't understand the words I'm saying, but hopefully he understands the _way_ I'm saying them. And that's probably for the best, anyway; only where I'm from would it be considered a grave insult to accuse someone of peddling substandard catch. My long-haired captor reaches into my cage and plucks me like a grape, holding me in front of his snout for one final look. "Kid, do you _ever_ shut that fucking mouth?"

I've been focusing hard on staying angry, lest one of the other five stages creep its way in. I find it's brought me a strange sort of clarity, somehow. "Only when I'm eating, sleeping, or fucking," I snap, wriggling in his grasp as I try to kick him in the face. Even if I could reach him with my stubby little legs, it'd be more of an insult than an injury. "I just hope Fedor gets his paws on you after he figures this shit out."

He shakes his head. "I'm not worried about an old, washed-up hatchet man, and you shouldn't be worrying about the future. Worry about the claws, kid. They're a lot more relevant right now."

"WAIT WAIT WAIT," I screech, grabbing the cuff of his sleeve as he winds up to throw me towards my death. I twist and curl, reaching into my pocket and unfolding the last of my earthly riches: a crumpled five-dollar bill. "What's the minimum bet? If I'm going out, I'm making one last bad decision."

It's obvious from the look on his face that this'd be funny to him if it weren't so sad. He sighs once again. "Minimum's fifty. Keep it," he grunts, flinging me unceremoniously into the sandy ring.

I tumble to a stop and brush myself off, spitting out sand. Fuck, who'd have thought sand tasted _worse_ without salt? I guess it could be worse, could be shit. Or salad. Oh shit, that's right, I'm about to fucking die. Think about things that make you angry! Don't go into denial or sadness, whichever one is next. Stay MAD! If there's a Valhalla, I'm gonna find out today, but I'm not gonna get there by curling up and letting some chicken peck me to-

The crowd goes silent. I look around the edge of the ring and see the same boar, with his stupid scarred-up snout, smiling at me as he carries a cloth-covered cage. He shakes it a bit to rile up the beast inside, then dumps it onto the sand across from me. I feel a chill run down my spine as I behold what must be the biggest black co- _rooster_ in this city's history. The monster scrambles to his feet and jerks his head around, fixing his soulless eyes - its lifeless, golden dinosaur peepers - on me, and I feel my asshole clench. The crowd begins chanting either a name or some eldritch curse, " _Vel'zevul_ ," and with a deafening shriek the monster charges me and everything goes dark.

 

I jerk awake, gasping for breath, and hear nothing. Was it a dream? The darkness around me and the soft cushion below me tell me that it must have been. I lift my head and see a wall of stone-faced mammals outside the ring, all of them silent as death. I look down past my ripped, blood-stained sweater and see a giant, dead bird at my feet. I cough up a few feathers and scratch my head, wondering how the FUCK I'm still alive.

Someone in the crowd clears their throat and I snap my adrenaline-addled gaze onto them. The yak. he opens his mouth to say something and I interrupt, howling at the top of my lungs. "FIVE BUCKS, MOTHERFUCKER, PAY THE FUCK UP!" He clams up, frowning deeply as he thinks of the amount of money he'd lose were he to honor my bet. He motions to someone and waves a hoof towards me as if shooing a pest, and the scar-nosed boar steps into the ring to gather the deceased fighter This, of course, is unacceptable. I killed this thing, it's _mine!_ "BACK OFF! Back the _fuck_ off! If you're not taking my bet, I'm taking this fucking chicken and if you try to stop me I'll rip your fucking face off!" I grip the body by the feet and look for some way out. The cage lies on its side inside the ring now. That'll do. I place my prize between my teeth and drag it up, climbing the cage and struggling over the wall, spitting out another mouthful of feathers as I drag it down the hall and out the door.

 

Audie stares quietly as I drag the plucked, blood-drained carcass of my enemy across her floor towards the kitchen. Well, for a moment, anyway. "Dude, WHAT THE FUCK! Is that a fucking CHICKEN?! What the fuck HAPPENED to you? Where the fuck did you GET that? Are the COPS about to get here?!"

I hold a paw up. "SHUT UP, goddamnit, are you trying to wake up the rest of the fucking building? I'll tell you, but I have to get this thing into the fridge before it starts to spoil, and as soon as that's done I'm gonna need you to hold me while I cry for a few hours."

She rubs the back of her neck nervously, drawing a long, slow breath. "That's... that just raises  _more_ questions, you know that, right?"

I drop my prey's feet and throw my paws up in a shrug. "Well then I guess we'll have plenty to talk about while we're eating  _chicken_ all week.  _You're welcome_."


	50. Bargain

I pace back and forth in front of the refrigerator, rubbing my chin as I consider my options. Time and nature are against me, especially in this warm of a climate. I've had to do most of my work _inside_ the fridge, with only a small flashlight to see by. I hear the telltale rattle of a key in the door and the usual muffled curses that follow as it refuses to turn properly. Audie's back, and with any luck she got my message before it was too late. I scramble to the door and nearly crash into her, skidding to a halt mere centimeters from disaster. "Did you get salt? I texted, but I think you might have already been on the bus."

She stares at me with her usual post-work glare, taking a few deep breaths to cool down rather than bite my head off for jumping all over her. "I _just_ got in the door, dude, can you give me a second? Here's your fucking salt," she gripes, thrusting a small box of granulated salt into my chest.

I look at it, and at her other paw for any sign of more. "Are you serious?" I groan, rubbing my forehead. "Damnit, I should have been more specific. I need a _lot_ of salt, I don't think I can do much more than a kidney or two with this."

She throws her paws in the air. "Then YOU go to the fucking store! I'm gonna get a drink and try to forget the fucking idiots I've had to spend my night with." She turns on her heel and marches toward the kitchen, pointing back at me with another admonishment. "Hey, and you'd _better_ have done something with that fucking chicken, because if my fridge still looks like a serial killer lives here, I'm gonna shove the wishbone up your ass the _hard_ way."

I snatch my bag and dash out the door, running down the hall as I hear her scream profanities at me. Surely she'll have calmed down by the time I get back, and when all this is done she'll agree that it was worth the time and the unsettling scenery. After all, it's not every day you get to eat REAL MEAT in this plastic, artificial-colors-and-flavors city. And lucky for us, I know my way around a goddamn bird.

Outside, the sun is well on its way up into the sky and the daywalkers are coming out of their burrows, migrating as they do every morning to their dead-end jobs. Poor fuckers. No creativity allowed in a cubicle farm; the best you might get is two or three photos of your boring family, and they have to listen to Brad or Karen or whoever prattle on about sports or celebrities or whatever other meaningless drivel the masses latch onto in order to pretend life has meaning. Not like me. I'm _doing_ things. I'm creating, I'm making, I'm _being_.

Oh yeah, I'm being. Being full of _shit_. My life is crap, my job prospects are slim, and my health is questionable at best. Still, though, I think I'm strong enough to handle it. I mean, I'd have thought attempted murder would have absolutely _ruined_ my week, but everyone says to focus on the positives and how much more positive can it be to have an entire fucking chicken? I'm either strong as shit or I'm a sociopath and I haven't realized it. It doesn't taste like I'd expected, though... The chicken, that is, not my probable mental illness. It's a very _lean_ meat, not at all like the seabirds I'm used to. I hope it doesn't suck when it's been cured. That'd be a goddamn travesty.

I look around, wondering if I should wait for a bus. Is there a grocery store around here? Damnit. I should really learn what's around if I'm gonna be crashing here for a while. I crane my neck, as if that would help, trying to look down the street for a sign. Wait, I have a fucking phone, _duh_. I don't need to know shit when I have Zoogle in my pocket. Internet! Tell me where the nearest salt supply can be found, and tell me quickly, we have little time to waste! Nearly a kilometer. Fuck, that's going to take me all morning. I begin walking with a sigh, already tired in my mind as I consider the hike ahead of me.

 

My phone rings along my journey and I pause. Who'd be calling me now? It's got to be Audie, and she's got to be pissed. I think I'll let her cool down - and booze up - before I answer any of her calls. I resume my forward march and let it go unanswered, breathing a small sigh of relief when the foghorn blows its last. ...Fuck, she's calling me again? Oh, just have a goddamn drink or two, will you? I promise you'll forget all about the fucking fridge. I continue onward and let the call time-out again, only for it to start bellowing again, sounding somehow _more_ insistent this time around.

I reach into my bag and pull my phone out with an annoyed grumble, looking at the screen. Oh FUCK me, it's Fedor? What the hell does _this_ asshole want? No doubt he wants me to break into someplace, drill a hole in someone's boat, or any number of things I never agreed to do in the first place. I take a moment to collect my thoughts before answering. "What?"

" _Malen'kiy mudak_ , why you don't answer fucking phone?! I call three goddamn time, what the fuck you even-"

"HEY, I'm gonna have to stop you right there, Fedor. First to say 'fuck you,' and second to remind you that - at least as far as I know - you're still halfway around the goddamn world right now. Did you forget there's a time difference? Any other day I'd be trying to _sleep_ right now, but it just happens that I'm on a salt run, and if you're this desperate to get ahold of me it better be important."

I hear nothing for several seconds, then laughter. "HA! You grow balls, or you just think distance make you safe? You know I come _back_ eventually, yeah? Hm? Need to talk to you, so shut the fuck up."

I cough, clearing my throat. "Yeah, all right. What?"

"Okay. I need to know what the fuck you do other day, and what you do with Vel'zevul."

I blink, but I don't break my stride. "You know I don't speak fucking Russian, right?"

"Fucking shut up! What happen to goddamn chicken?!"

Ohhhhh. Shit, weren't those fat criminal fucks all chanting some v-word before I blacked out? Was that its _name?_ Huh, I've never eaten anything with a name before. Not that I know of, anyway... kind of adds a personal quality. But fuck it, that chicken was gonna kill me, so I killed it first, somehow.  "Oh, that. Hey thanks for asking how _I_ am, by the way, no, you should just worry about the fucking murderbird they tried to _kill_ me with. Are you serious?! Even if I could remember what happened, I wouldn't want to tell that story except to a _therapist_. I'm sure whoever told you about it already actually saw it happen, why don't you ask-"

"What you do with _dead_ chicken _sukin syn_ , _derzkiy malen'kiy ublyudok_. Where BODY?"

I roll my eyes. "Who the hell wants to know? Look, whoever they are, tell them I killed that fucker, so it's _mine_ now, and a guy's gotta fucking eat, all right?"

"You EATING?" I hear a loud thud accompanied by uproarious laughter. Did this fat fuck fall down? He returns to the phone, wheezing and chuckling. "You crazy... you eat fucking _Vel'zevul?!_ Crazy little fuck, why you just grow balls _now?_ "

"I don't know, maybe because I've got just about nothing fucking left to lose and _I'M STARVING, FEDOR_. Working in your shady fucking fish store is what FEEDS ME, and you didn't have the goddamn brain in your skull to tell me you were leaving, otherwise I'd have snuck out enough fish to last me through the month!"

I hear him hum, muttering something to himself. "Maybe... but if I catched you stealing, I hang you from hook like fucking cod. You don't steal from Fedor."

I take a deep breath. "Try me motherfucker, I'll run up your pant leg and bite your goddamn balls off."

He laughs again. "You talk like this to me in person, _bozhe moi_ , I don't know if I kill you or kiss you. You watch back though, that cock you kill worth thousands of dollars. Stay away from Tundratown until I come back. They not fuck with you when Fedor is in town."

I sigh. "I feel so _safe_. Is that all you wanted?"

"No. I give Marta your number, she probably call you soon. Need something done... eh, not sure what, but she no criminal. Not like her uncle," he chuckles, which I find to be the opposite of reassuring.

Marta... I think I remember her. "Uh... she tell you anything about it?"

"No, but like I say, she probably call you soon. Watch back, okay? _Do svidaniya_."

I scratch my head, glancing cautiously over my shoulder. Fuck, am I wanted by the mob for bird murder now? Fuck this whole city, goddamnit I hate this place.

 

I make it a city block before I find myself so bored that leaping into traffic almost sounds fun. I reflexively reach for my phone before slapping my own paw away from it, reminding myself that one: that's how folks get squashed crossing the street, and two: data isn't free. Fuck, don't I have _anything_ to distract me from this mindless exercise besides counting my goddamn steps? I stop and dig through my bag, finding a box of matches. Oh, right, I'm technically still a smoker. I'd barely realized I'd almost weaned myself off the habit. Is my pipe in here? If I'm walking this far, I'm gonna enjoy a smoke like the pretentious piece of shit I am.

With a tightly-packed pipe in one paw and a lit match in the other, I carefully light the tobacco and puff gently. There! Now, to resume my walk, looking like a cultured and sophisticated mammal. Except I look like hipster scum, and I know it. Fucking hipsters! Ruining everything they touch by trying to be 'ironic...' I feel sorry for them. They're such uninteresting, bland fucks that they have to dress obnoxiously to distract from their lack of personality. Why don't they get a fucking hobby?! Like reading. You don't have to talk to _anyone_ if you're reading. They'll just look at you, see you're reading a book, and they'll go away for fear that you might be smarter than them, and nobody will get close enough to realize you're a terrible piece of shit. Damn... I've barely read anything lately, ignoring the back of Audie's shampoo bottles. I've been too busy looking for work and feeling sorry for myself to make my way to the lib-

I jerk, nearly dropping my pipe as my phone blares again, and I pull it from my bag with a groan. Well, it isn't Fedor or anyone whose number I know, so it's probably a scam. Unfortunately, I can't afford to miss any call, even if they would be stupid enough to call me when any other predator would be drunk, getting ready for bed, or getting ready to drink. I lift it to my ear and resume walking, pulling the pipe from my mouth with my free paw. "Hello?"

A woman's voice answers me. "Hi, Reese?"

She knows my name? SHIT, IS THIS A JOB? "YEAH, uh... yeah, this is Reese, what's up?" I ask, trying to temper my excitement. Don't get your hopes up, you _know_ what happens, I tell myself. This could just as easily be a rejection call.

"Hi! This is Marta, we met at CRAMP. My uncle gave me your number, I hear you need a job?"

Marta...? Oh fuck, that's right, Fedor said she'd be calling me. His niece, Leonard's wife, CRAMP meeting. _That_ Marta. ...'That' Marta? What, like I know _other_ Martas? "Yes. Yes I _am_ looking for a job, and if you can cuss your uncle out on my behalf, I'd appreciate it."

She pauses. "Cuss him out? Why?"

I shrug to myself, taking a puff of my pipe. "Well, in part because it's just something I'm trying to do more frequently, but mostly for closing shop for a month and not telling the only guy who works for him."

She laughs. "Yeah, I think I heard him mention that. Anyway, I just need to ask a few questions, you know, get some things sorted out. You graduated college, right?"

I blink. "Yeah." I've never had _anyone_ ask about my credentials. Dare I hope this is something relevant to my studies?

I can hear the soft tapping of a keyboard. "All right... can you tell me the year you graduated, the school, and your field of study?" I rattle off the year and school, absolutely thrilled at the prospect that I may FINALLY have found real work. "Great. I've actually got a lot of info about you already through the access my job gives me... but don't tell anybody," she whispers, almost playfully. "This probably won't really be what you've always hoped for, but it _does_ pay."

I swallow nervously. "Is this... is this city-funded, something like that?" If it gets my foot in the door, I'll take city-funded theater. The only troupe I'm with so far is basically voluntary, unless they decide to pay out a portion of attendance. "What exactly are we talking about? Public service announcements, public access programming, stuff like that? Hell, I'd take paid protesting as long as it's not supporting something shitty."

"Oh, no, nothing like that, just substitute teaching."

My stomach drops. I nearly lose my grip on my pipe and I stumble, tripping on a crack in the sidewalk. "Sub- substi- WHAT? Are you crazy?! I'm not a goddamn teacher! I don't like _kids_ , I mean, I didn't even like kids when I WAS a kid!"

"No, no, don't worry about that. The nocturnal school is a pretty forgiving place to work, and as a substitute the most you'd have to do is guide their reading. The teachers leave detailed instructions, there's a syllabus to guide you, they have worksheets if you-"

I reach up to rub my forehead, nearly jabbing myself with the end of my pipe. "Okay, look, I don't think that's going to work. I'm not a friendly guy, I'm trying to reduce my stress level, and I don't even have any experience teaching, much less a degree."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about any of that. It'll take me a few days, but I can fudge what I need to to get you approved."

"You... _what?_ What are you talking about?"

"I said I can fudge a few things and get you approved. I know you're in a rough patch, but so is the school, and at this point they just need warm bodies who can read and who'll keep their paws off the kids."

"Are you saying you're going to forge a... what, a certificate or something?!"

"Yeah," she answers, as though she weren't admitting to a crime. "You didn't seem to mind when I did your license and registration."

I stop, leaning against a lamppost as I process this. "That was _you?_ Fedor sai- he said you _weren't_ a crook."

"No, no, I just work for the city, I don't do things like he does. I've done him the odd favor here and there, you know, being family and all, but I try to help folks out from where I am, you know? Folks like you and folks like the school. And the school _really_ could use some help right now."

"Oh cheese and rice..." I need to think of a way out of this. "Uh, okay, tell you what. If you can get me the name and address of the fucker whose chair I crashed into, I'll do it."

"...Did you say chair?"

"That's beside the point. I'm sure if you can 'fudge' me into a substitute teacher, you can probably get the police report." I breathe a sigh of relief, certain that I'll never hear of this again.

"All right. I'll see what I can do, and thank you - from both of us."

Huh? Both of who? Whatever. I hang up and continue my quest, marching ever onward toward the grocer. She'll never find their name. The police don't even know who it was, I've  _asked_. And by asked, I mean I've pestered them until they  blocked my calls.

...Hang on a second, can they  _legally_ do that?

 

"WHAT THE FUCK!" I shout, pushing through the door into the apartment, a box of self-proclaimed sea salt strapped to my back.

Audie flails on the couch, pulled viciously from her calm state. "YOU what the fuck! Cheese and crackers, dude, I was fucking relaxed until a second ago!" she replies, looking around her on the couch for something she dropped.

I drop the box and flex my back, wincing at the persistent soreness from the crash. Why the fuck didn't I think of that _before_ I marched fifteen fucking miles with a brick of salt on my back?! I mean, it's not like it hasn't been hurting for _weeks_  or anything. "What I mean is what the FUCK is with the price of salt here?! It's fucking outrageous!"

Audie picks up the smallest roach from between her legs and checks the upholstery for burn marks. "Huh? Uh, yeah, things cost money around here, you can't just trade dried fish and rape like the Vikings did. How's that news?"

I cock my head, wondering if she even understands what I'm getting at. "That box cost me five dollars. Five fucking dollars. For _salt_."

She scratches her cheek. "Yeah, okay, I don't see what the big deal is."

"The ocean," I explain, very calmly, "is _right_ fucking there." I point roughly the direction of the sea. That's not hard to do, since the city's on a peninsula. "And I could get _twice_ this much salt for bus fare back and forth."

She rolls her eyes. "Well... you live in modern times, Reese, where there's nothing on TV and stuff costs money. There's nothing weird about _buying_ salt."

"There is when you could go to the shore and scrape it off a rock for  _free!_ "

She turns her head slowly, staring back at me. "Dude. That's fucking _nasty_."

I lift my paws in a shrug. "If that's nasty, how do you think they got this salt to put in this box? Do you think they conjured it with a magic fucking wand? No! They built a machine to scrape the shit off rocks on the beach, just like mammals have done for fucking millions of years! They just don't want anyone here to figure out they could be getting salt for free, and you're just as brainwashed as everyone!"

"Fuck off, dude. They clean that shit, who's gonna eat salt that's got sand and amoebas and dirt in it? _That's_ what you're paying for. Salt that isn't full of beach bugs and fish shit."

"It's fucking _salt_. It doesn't matter what's in it, that shit doesn't go into the food. Not when you're _curing_ things."

She leans back on the couch, trying to reach the lighter she tossed too far from herself. "God! You're a picky little shit, you know that, right? Why can't you eat pretzels and hot pockets like everyone else?"

I drag the box toward the kitchen, sparing a moment to reply. "Because unlike everyone else I've tasted _real food_  and I'm not satisfied with anything a robot shits out on a conveyor belt, _that's_ why."


	51. Date Night, 8 June 793

I wake up, lying face-down on a sand beach as the waves lap at my feet and tail. What happened? I remember a storm, and the captain barking orders, and then... the wave. A wave like no other in creation. I stumble to my feet and look up and down the strand, desperate to find any of my shipmates. There were a hundred men on that ship, many with families back home! I stagger along the shore, searching the flotsam that washed up with me, but find no one. My God, why would you spare _me_ and not them? I fall to my knees as the wind whistles about me, filling my ears with its shrill song, taunting me like a distant voice.

" _Hey! Can you hear me?_ "

I jerk around, looking for the source of the call. That was not wind! I double-take at something sitting atop a rock just offshore, unable to believe my eyes. A mermaid?! Surely I have perished, for such creatures live only in the fantastic tales told over brandy and rum. Does this mean, by their absence, that the rest of the ship has survived? The mermaid beckons me closer. Come, she motions, urging me closer to her nude form, the water-slick fur clinging to every curve of her torso, and the sparkling scales that cover her tail. I wade out to meet her, certain by now that I've reached some sailor's afterlife - a paradise of calm seas, fair weather, and fairer women. She lays her paws atop my shoulders as I grip her waist, and she pulls me close to whisper in my ear...

" **FUCKING WAKE UP, ASSHOLE!** "

I jerk awake, whipping my head back and forth violently as I search for danger. Audie sighs audibly, throwing my glasses against my chest. "Cheese and fucking _crackers_ , dude, you're gonna make us late."

"Can't a guy catch a fucking nap?! God, we're not on a fucking schedule, we're shooting... fuck, I don't even remember." Son of a _bitch_ am I tired. Wasn't it her idea that I try running, anyway? 'A lot of folks take up exercise to help with depression,' that's what she told me. So far my opinion is that they're sleeping all the fucking time from all the exercise, so I guess they aren't awake to feel depressed. So maybe it  _does_ help in some kind of fashion.

"The caveman thing. We're shooting the caveman thing."

...Right. The fucking caveman thing. Sometimes I think Harry and Norm smoke a little too much... no, a _lot_ too much nip. How else would they have come up with something like that? "Goddamnit. Can you explain to me again why _everything_ I suggest gets unanimously rejected while the weirdest shit that usually involves me getting thrown makes the cut _every fucking time?_ "

She shrugs. "You're small and easy to throw, it's classic comedy. I don't make up the rules, man, you know that. But hey - I've been thinking about that dream you had a while back, and I think I've got something that doesn't involve Reese-tossing. Yeah, it's kinda removed from... all right, it's _really_ removed from your dream, but I don't make up the rules of how my fuckin' brain works, either. You know about Lindisfarne?"

I pull my shirt on and place my glasses on my snout, turning my head slowly to face her. "Do _I_ know about Lindisfarne? What's that, some kind of biscuit you eat with- YES I know about Lindisfarne. I'm actually kind of surprised that _you_ do, since nobody I've ever met on this continent seems to have ever read a history book."

"Cripes, looks like _someone_ woke up on the wrong side of the goddamn couch. Anyway, we're gonna need a bunch of sheep masks and some brown robes, but aside from that I think we can try a green screen sort of thing for the rest of the scene."

"Hey, now _you're_ gonna make us late. How about you tell me on the way."

"Yeah, all right, dick."

 

I awake from my post-filming nap just in time to see the rough product. How long was I sleeping? And they didn't even draw on me or shove butter down my pants? I guess they're taking it easy on me or something, maybe they figure I have enough shit on my plate. I join the crowd around Chet's laptop just as the screen fades in. A bunch of assholes in cheap caveman costumes sit around a small fire, superimposed in front of a dark wilderness scene. The largest of them, a bear, rubs his bare belly. His bear belly? His bare bear belly. Anyway, he rubs it, looking around hungrily. "Uh uhhh uhh uh," he grunts, as subtitles pop up saying "I'm hungry."

The raccoon seated next to him nods, replying, "Badunga." Subtitles: "Me too." He watches as the bear reaches for the red mink at his feet, idly gnawing on a bone, who screeches angrily and thrashes as the large, black paw grips him and quickly lets go. The cave-raccoon laughs. "Gunga dunga wiwi, dude!" Subtitles: "Don't try to eat him, dude!" Apparently some words predate modern civilization.

A puma wearing the same kind of cheap, fake loincloth shows up, panting. "Guhh! Gadooga booga katooga! Unga bunga doodoo." Subtitles: "Shit! There's a beehive over there! Almost stung my ass." He takes a seat beside the bear, but scoots away from the mink as it hisses and shrieks at him. "Gung." Subtitles: "Jeez."

The raccoon scratches his ass. "Uhh... bunga dunga dingo. Humba wumba wild women of wongo." Subtitles: "Hmm... what's up with bees, anyway. You'd think they were hiding something in there."

The view switches to a close-up of the bear's face, excitement obvious in his expression as the image of a burning turd - in Harry's mind, that's the caveman equivalent of a light bulb - appears above his head. "OOOOOH! OOH OOOOH! Uh uhh uhhh!" Subtitles: "OH! HEY GUYS! What if there's food in there!"

The cat and the coon look at each other with a shrug. The raccoon answers, "Bunga bunga chumbawumba?" Subtitles: "Why don't you find out?"

The bear deflates slightly, clearly afraid of the risk. "Uh uhh uh uh uhhhhh." Subtitles: "But I don't wanna get stung."

The cat shakes his head. "Man, boogada boogada hoobastank. Biggidy baggidy boo." Subtitles: "Man, they'll never get through your fur. Look at your paw."

The bear lifts his paw to see the mink hanging on by his teeth, shaking violently in an attempt to rip off a chunk of flesh. "Uhhh." Subtitles: "Uhhh." The bear pulls the mink off his paw and tosses him aside, stepping out of the scene and reappearing in a different spot with a fake beehive hanging in front of him. He licks his lips, swatting at a few bees that haven't been edited in yet, and plucks the hive from its branch. He tears it open with his claws and hollers in surprise as he tastes the delicious honey and larvae hidden within. The scene changes again to show the four cavemen enjoying their newfound treat as subtitles explain that this is a scientifically-proven reenactment of the discovery of honey, and that the four cavemen - Ug, Ug, Ug, and Ricky - will appear in further sketches to illuminate this darkest period of our history.

I hum, rubbing my chin. "You know, I think something's missing..."

Chet shrugs. "Shoot. This is pretty much the roughest draft, there's plenty of time to make changes."

"Well, it's just that I don't see any of the footage where you guys dumped FUCKING BUKAKKED ME WITH HONEY." All four of my cohorts jump, not expecting such an outburst. They should have, though, since they've known me long enough to know better. "You're gonna fuck with me like that, put it on tape, and not even USE IT?! Maybe next time, FUCKING DON'T. That shit STINGS when it gets in your eyes, and washing it out was a pain in the ass, I have _really thick_ fur!"

Audie's the first to approach me, laying an arm across my shoulders. "Heyyy..." I never like when she says that. It usually means she thinks I'm overreacting, and that there's more of the same in my future. "We'll put it in the bloopers. All right?"

"No. No, not all right. That shit gets old, okay? No more fucking with Reese just to have a giggle."

She shrugs. "It's not our fault that you're hilarious when you're enraged. But all right, we can cut back on the Reese-fucking."

Harry looks side to side and remarks, "I don't know, he seems pretty okay with it when it's _you_ doin' it." I have to fight a smirk as Audie leaps toward Harry, pelting him playfully with a flurry of blows.

"You fat fuck! At least he _gets_ pussy, when's the last time you kissed a girl that wasn't your mom?" Cue laughter. Not just from me, but everyone - including Harry. Especially Harry.

 

Harry, Audie, and I leave Chet and Norm to do some more work on the sketch. Harry turns to her, as we all wander along the sidewalk, and asks her, "So what's this idea you mentioned? You always come up with some crazy shit, I wanna hear it."

She shrugs slightly. "Well, it's _kinda_ my idea, but the inspiration came from Reese, here. He told you about that dream he had, right?"

Harry blinks, trying to remember. Not his strong suit, with all the nip he consumes. Suddenly, his eyes open wide. "SHIT! Goddamnit, Reese, I _told_ you not to tell her about that shit! Now she's gonna start pitching it, and she's pure fucking evil. You've never seen her when she won't let something go, dude, you've just opened Pandora's box and all the evils of the world are free to fuckin' throw our shit in the dumpster."

Audie extends her paws, waving them slightly. "Woah, woah, woah! No! I know we can't do what he dreamt up, at least not anytime soon. I know I look it, but I'm not _stupid_. I said I took _inspiration_ from him, not that I wrote down what he told me and expected to pitch it in a writing session."

Harry calms down slightly, giving me a stern look before turning back to Audie. "All right, go ahead. But if this is anything like what I think it'll be, I'm gonna hang you both from a clothesline."

I shake my head. "You have a clothesline?"

"No, but I know where I can get one," he threatens with a sigh.

Audie clears her throat. "Okay. So do you know anything about Lindisfarne?"

Harry thinks. "The candy company?"

"The wha-? No, the _monastery_. In 793 a bunch of Vikings showed up and sacked it, killing all the monks and taking all their swag, it's basically the start of the Viking Age."

Harry kind of side-eyes me. "...Go on."

"Well, I was thinking, why not do at least one sketch that Reese _can't_ be a huge monster bitch about? We'll have everyone in monk robes and maybe sheep masks, and then little mister bloodlust here can chop our fictional heads off."

Harry scratches his chin, turning the concept over in his head. "Idunno. Where's the funny part? I mean besides us getting beheaded by the tiniest viking ever. That's kinda funny."

"Yeah, well, that's just part of it. They're monks, right? They're sworn to be pacifists! So one of them keeps saying 'they're little, let's just kick them' and the boss... uh, head monk? Whoever's in charge keeps scolding him for saying that, and they basically just roll over and let themselves get killed."

We arrive at a bus stop and come to a halt. Harry will continue walking by himself from this point. He shrugs. "Eh, all right. We can work on it, I'll let you know if I come up with something on my own, and it's already got a kind of silly, absurd feel to it. I think we can work with it," he nods, reaching in his pocket for his usual walking-home joint. The nerve! He had nip on him the whole time and didn't even offer! Ha. With all he's done for me - and continues to do for me - I'll bum some of Audie's. "Oh wait, I forgot something." He reaches into another pocket and pulls out a USB stick. "I made you a playlist. Good shit, all of it's relaxing. And I even wrote you a fuckin' prescription, dude. One hour a day, or as needed, I want you to sit back, listen to some tunes, smoke a little bit if you want to. See if it doesn't do anything for your stress level."

That's some kind of fucking lowest-budget, least-effort alternative medicine he just came up with, but hell, I can't really argue with it. Just as well, because Audie replies before I can think of anything worth saying. "Isn't smoking, like, bad for blood pressure?"

Harry rolls his eyes and, without speaking a word, pulls a notepad and pen from his pocket. He scribbles something, tears it off, and offers it to Audie. She squints at it, unable to parse his handwriting. "Shit, can you read what that says?" she asks, giving it to me, as I adjust my glasses.

"It says... uh..." I swallow, trying to keep a straight face. "It says 'Boner, once a day, take orally.'" We look up to see Harry high-tailing it away, giggling like a lunatic.

"I'M GONNA KICK YOUR FAT ASS, YOU STRIPEY-TAILED FUCK!" she laughs, just as the bus pulls up.

 

Red, red wine. Goes to my head. Goes to hers, too, but that's not ALL it goes to. I still think it lowers her standards a little too much, but I've been drinking as well and I'm not thinking about that right now. "Told you you'd like it."

She rolls her eyes emphatically, lolling her head slightly. "Yeah, well, I still think it smells funny. Are you gonna clean this up?"

"What? I did all the damn work, why do _I_ have to clean it up?"

"Because it's _my_ goddamn bed we're in, and don't you forget it!"

I huff and pick up our dishes, carting them to the kitchen and staring up at the counter. Goddamnit. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to have a roof over my head, but this place is slowly becoming the pain in the ass I was afraid it would. I grip the dishes under one arm and climb the ladder to the sink with the other, grumbling as I turn on the water, wrestle the soap bottle, try to grip the brush with soap on my goddamn paws... fuck I hate washing dishes. I eventually make my way back to her room and climb up onto the bed.

"Hey, can you use the ladder? You're probably putting holes in the blanket the way you do that."

"Yeah, but it's more fun, and I _know_ you like that kind of barbarian shit. Climbing up bare-pawed, claws out, meat in your belly... shit, that last one could be a double entendre."

She laughs. "Bitch, you better do more than just _feed_ me if you want to go down that road."

I spread my arms wide, shrugging innocently. "I didn't _intend_ anything, but if that's the way you wanna go..." I can't keep a straight face. I give in to a fit of the giggles, sitting down beside her. "I'm surprised you've never had liver before. It might be the best part of a bird. I mean, this didn't really taste like the birds I'm used to, and it wasn't even CLOSE to as good as puffin, but-"

"You're surprised?" she asks, giving me a strange, but obviously intentionally-humorous look. "You bitch every goddamn day about the price of fish, and you're surprised folks can't afford _poultry?_ That's like... some folks never even _taste_ poultry. It's too expensive, they're probably worth more as egg-layers than as food."

I look away, my mouth watering despite my full stomach at the thought of eggs. I've received some shit from my friends - as well as others - about my 'insane egg-lust,' as it's been called, but they just don't  _get_ it. Where I'm from, you can get eggs for only a month or two, and it's a goddamn trial to even go after them! Most seabirds that breed on Lundøye nest on sheer cliff faces or at the top of sheer cliff faces, and if the birds don't peck a hole in your brainbox, the wind may blow you onto the jagged rocks below. Back home, if you get an egg, you _enjoy_ that goddamn thing. My reminiscing is cut short my the feel of a paw gripping and kneading the fur on the back of my neck, sending a shiver all the way down my spine and through my tail. "Wh-what are you..."

"Shut up, you're ruining it," Audie chuckles, fixated on my pelt. " _God_ you're thick. If I were some sadistic dark-age queen, I'd keep you as a blanket-slave."

"That's fucked up." I sit for a moment, shuddering as she runs her paws through my fur. "But if you were a drunk, modern-day comic, I guess you could keep me as a body pillow with a dick." She leans forward to give me another weird look. "Hey, those are _your_ words."

She laughs. "Are you gonna keep flapping your yap or are you gonna get in on this?" I make a show of pretending to consider it before wrapping an arm around her shoulders, bringing my face close to hers, and leaning in for a-

If the sound of the front door opening isn't enough to disturb us, the shriek that follows certainly is. Billie drops her bags and smacks a paw over her nose, screaming, " **WHAT THE FUCK, IT SMELLS LIKE AN ANCHOVY'S _CUNT_ IN HERE!** "


	52. Scotch Guard

Audie and I fall all over each other, as we half-drunkenly scramble to... uh... fuck, I don't even know what's going on, I'm just startled and I'm following her lead, to be honest. Is there actually some danger here, or is she just spazzing? "What are we gonna do?!" I whisper tensely, my head swiveling around to search for... I don't know, Billie, I guess.

"I don't know. I don't know!" she replies, just as jittery and panicked as I must appear. "Uhhh... QUICK! Hide under the pillow!" she hisses, lifting up a corner of a standard bed pillow as I dive down and wriggle underneath it. Standard... what makes it standard? That's some kind of sizeist bullshit, because I guarantee most species of mammals are of a size that they can use a supposed 'standard' pillow as a mattress if not a goddamn _home_. Wait. I'm getting sidetracked. Why am I thinking about this? This is pointless right now. Maybe I'll bring it up at a CRAMP meeting (if I ever GO to one) but right now I need to worry about being... what exactly am I in danger of? Audie jumps onto the pillow and sits still, acting casual. Drunk-casual, like when you know you're drunk and need to look like nothing's wrong. Hopefully Billie's jet-lagged or something and won't notice.

Billie storms into the room, sniffing, looking like she might puke. "Cheese and crackers, what the fuck have you been DOING in here?! Is that some new shit from Harry, because if it is, it better take you to the moon with a single hit."

Audie shrugs. "I don't know! How've you been?" I can imagine the silly, innocent grin on her face as she tries - quite poorly - to bullshit the keen-nosed dingo. "What do you smell? I don't smell anything. I've been in here, drinking, alone. Maybe it's the neighbors."

Billie rubs her forehead with her fingertips. "Cut the shit. I didn't smell this in the hall, and I _know_ the place never smelled like this. It almost smells like..." she stops, looking over her shoulder and towards the living room. "Whatever it is, it's all over the couch, and I don't want to tell my mom why we need a new one. That doesn't smell like shit that washes out, Audie." She doesn't sound entirely angry anymore. Resigned, maybe, but not fully angry. What's this about her mother?

"Eh, you'll get used to it, we can get some Musk-Off for the couch tomorrow. Maybe go light a candle or something! You know, out there. Or in your room."

Billie rolls her eyes. "How drunk are you?"

Audie shrugs. "Little bit."

"Uh huh." She sniffs the air. "You pick up a taste for fish while I was gone? Or do you have something you want to tell me?" she asks, crossing her arms.

I don't know if Audie's a skilled liar, but I know she's clever enough to talk her way out of- "Reese has been crashing here for a while." I hear the distinct  _whap_ of a paw hitting a forehead.

Billie breathes a long, tired sigh. "Okay... what part of 'no guests' did you forget? Was it the 'no?' Because that's the important part. You're just lucky she didn't come to town, or you'd _really_ be in the shit. Where is he?"

"Can you give us, like, fifteen minutes or an hour or something?"

"I fucking mean it!"

"All right, fine, he's under the pillow!" she pouts. A large paw dives in and snatches me, screeching and flailing, from my hiding spot. To my surprise, Billie doesn't whip me to the floor, bite me in half, or even fling me out the window. Instead, she holds me against her snout and huffs me like a rag soaked in paint thinner.

My comparatively large captor gags, almost dropping me as she fights to keep her latest meal in her stomach. "Well what the fuck did you expect, _lilac?_ " I sneer, thrashing against her grip. "YEAH, I smell a bit! Now are you done ruining our fucking morning, or am I gonna have to claw your eyes out?" I'm honestly quite upset she did that. She didn't need to invade my personal space like that, she probably could have caught a whiff from arm's length, especially right now. I always smell worse when I'm nervous.

She drops me on the bed and runs a paw down her face, the other planted firmly on her hip. "'Kay. I don't know what you know about our living arrangement, but we can't have folks staying here. Overday is fine, you know, everyone likes a one-day stand, but after that you get the fuck out or we get _kicked_ the fuck out."

I roll over and sit upright, looking over at Audie before staring back at Billie. "Care to elaborate, or is it none of my fucking business? If I have to climb in through Harry's window or sleep in a fucking bush that's fine, I'd just like to know _why_ first."

Billie shrugs slightly. "Really none of your business."

I sigh, climbing to my feet. "Fine." I climb off the bed and shuffle into the living room, grabbing my things as Audie follows me.

"Hey... don't take this the wrong way, it's nothing to do with you, it's uh... I can tell you all about it if you swear on your life you won't tell anyone."

I pause, thinking about that last statement. I look Audie in her shiny, wide-set eyes and ask, "How do I get the feeling you made that exact deal with Billie?"

She snorts quietly and pushes my shoulder. "Dick. If you're going to Harry's, can I ride along? I'm gonna need a smoke and _someone's_ been getting into my stash."

"You're a grown-up lady. What do you need  _my_ permission for?"

 

The half-drunk bus ride through the busy city morning would be horrendous alone, but it's not as bad with someone else to gripe to. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's fucking horrible, but it could be worse. So far the loudest thing we've encountered was a horrified phone call from Billie about the scene in the fridge, and that was pretty easily dealt with. "Don't touch my fucking chicken," I said. "If I can't stay there, then you can't have any. Suck it." Audie's uncontrolled laughter almost blocked out my perception of the leery gazes coming from the prey species all around us. But you know what? _Fuck_ them. I pay taxes, I can say what I want! I mean, it's pretty much just sales tax, but that counts! I'll say whatever the fuck I want on this public goddamn bus!

I release a long, tired breath and slouch in my seat. "We're gonna have to figure out a way to get that chicken out of your fridge and somewhere else. Maybe stash it at Harry's place, no way am I trusting Norm with it. Probably get high and swallow the goddamn thing whole."

Audie rolls her neck, groaning softly. "How do you expect to get it there? Hell, how'd you get it to _my_ place? Do I even want to know?"

"I just rode the bus."

"You're shitting me. You rode the bus with a dead chicken, and _nobody_ said anything?"

"You're goddamn right nobody said anything. It turns out if you've covered in blood and you just sit quietly and smile at folks, nobody even looks at you."

"You're goddamn insane," she chuckles, shaking her head.

"I thought we established that a while ago."

She shrugs. "Yeah, that's fair."

The bus drives on, and passengers continue to file on and off. With any luck we'll reach Harry's place within an hour. I can't stand that about this city; if you need to get anywhere, it's going to take you at _least_ half an hour, assuming you have your own transportation. If you're reliant on public transportation, well, I hope you got up early because you're looking at an hour to an hour and a half, maybe even longer depending on the traffic, the weather, the phase of the moon... I swear, _horoscopes_ are more reliable than the buses here. And if you want to get a foot infection, there's no better place to catch one than the subway.

I rub my forehead, silently cursing my poor fortune as the bus passes over a landscape of potholes. We must be getting close to our destination. There's very little money spent on certain parts of the city, and in my experience you can usually guess the demographics of an area by the condition of the road. _Fuck_ , and this morning was going so well, too... Better than I could have hoped. With the alcohol's effects waning, my head is filled with a roiling sea of thoughts, some of them important, but all of them depressing.

'I'm pretty well screwed if I don't get a job soon' is really big lately, for obvious reasons. 'What are you doing with your life' comes in at number two, though that one usually it tops the list. I've spent many a morning lying awake, wrestling with that thought in a fruitless effort to sleep. Number three is more of an emotional problem. 'What should I do about Audie?' I ask myself, trying not to look at her as a few options cross my mind. The simplest thing to do would be to just let things ride and see where this leads, but I can't do _nothing_. I mean I really can't, the thought is always there at the back of my mind, and I've had thoughts grip me this way before. I either have to do _something_ or I'm going to give myself an aneurysm from the stress of overthinking. The other easy option would be to establish ourselves as just friends, but despite my fear that the path we're on leads only to suffering and eventual hatred, I don't think I can talk her into that because the primitive, animal part of me wants to hang on to anyone who'll touch my dick and hang around.

The third option is the most terrifying. That's the one where I dive head-first into a true, honest relationship with her. On its face, it makes sense: we get along well, she's funny, and she seems to like me. But on the other paw I have a poor track record as far as relationships go, and I'm all but convinced she'll end up violently hating me. Then there's the shit that came out of my second relationship, and if she's not down with that, I'm worried she might just bury herself alive to escape the kind of creep she'd think I am. Cheese and fucking rice, I need a goddamn drink... let's call that thought number four. It's not a healthy thought, but it holds the promise that I'll forget about thoughts one through three for a while, and I could use a little silence in here.

 

I eventually glance to my left and nearly jump, noticing that Audie's been staring at me with her walleye gaze. "Did you know your face turns into one giant eyebrow when you're thinking?" she asks, immediately derailing my train of thought with a squishy boulder of surrealism. "At least I _hope_ you were thinking. If you're trying to hold in a fart or something, by all means, eyebrow up."

I sigh. "No, I was thinking."

"Anything good?"

"When do I  _ever_ think about anything good? The alcohol's wearing off and it's getting late, it's nothing but... it's just negativity and dread up here," I gripe, tapping my head. "I still haven't had any real job offers. I'm broke, I'm homeless, and I feel like the ride may be coming to an end. If nothing comes in, I'm going to on the street corner by the end of the week, turning tricks for spare change." I feel a rush of heat in my face as she clamps a paw over her mouth, obviously trying to contain a laugh. "...Is this fucking _funny_ to you? I'm sorry, maybe you don't get it, but I'm getting pretty fucking desperate!"

She waves her free paw, shutting her eyes as tears begin to form. After what feels like minutes of silence, she catches her breath and looks me in the eyes. "I'm sorry... you're a week away from doing _what_ on the corner?"

"Turning tricks! Flipping cards, making balls disappear, the lowest, saddest kind of entertainment there is in this world! Turning tricks for pocket change like some piece of shit magician, no real talent besides some lame sleight-of-paw..."

The floodgates burst open, unleashing a torrent of laughter onto the now sparsely-populated bus. "That's... that's... oh fuck, you've got to be shitting me! You mean... you meant _magic_ tricks!" she stammers between fits of uncontrolled joy, gasping for breath.

I scratch an ear and wait, fluttering my lips in frustrated resignation. "All right, are you going to shut the fuck up? You're making a scene."

"I'M making a scene?!" she retorts, unable to wipe a beaming smile off her face. "I'm not the one who confused magicians with hookers!" I let out a groan as she resumes laughing. Great, I guess I stumbled onto some HILARIOUS new bit of slang, and she'll be telling everyone about it for weeks. Why can't folks here speak normal fucking English?! It's bad enough I've had to copy their accent, but they've got such ridiculous ideas on which words mean what!

"Are you about done? We're probably close to our stop."

"Yeah... yeah, just gimme a minute... you know 'turning tricks' is what _hookers_ do, right?"

"Well I do now. Can you do me a favor and just throw me under this bus when we get off?"

"Ah, shut up. If you're really _that_ upset, maybe we can get off once we've gotten off." Ah yes, I know that slang. Ha ha, ha ha. As if either of us is capable of such exertion at this point. We're both exhausted because it's late; the alcohol has just about worn off, leaving us feeling sick and sensitive; and now one of us is _grumpy_. Even if I thought I could physically handle the task, I wouldn't risk it in this situation. No audience enjoys a poor performance, and a disappointed fan is hesitant to attend another showing.

"Let's just get to Harry's," I mutter, tugging the cord to request a stop.

 

It's a bit of a walk to Harry's building from our stop. Well maybe not for _you_ , I don't fucking know. But if your legs were as short as mine you'd understand, would it kill you to show a little empathy? My stride is measured in _millimeters_. It takes us a while to get one and a half blocks down the street. Sure, it'd be quicker if we got down on our paws and scampered, but that's fucking undignified. Anyway. Walking. I keep my gaze pretty firmly on the sidewalk ahead of me, content to walk in silence. Unfortunately, I'm not alo- you know, 'unfortunately' seems like the wrong word. Don't get me wrong, I'd be fine with silence, but I'm also pretty okay with having Audie's company.

She speaks up, depriving me of my brooding silence. "So... I said I'd explain my living situation, right?"

I grunt softly. "Yeah, but... does it matter? I mean, will knowing make a difference?"

"Jeez. It's a yes or no question, I don't need the existential shit."

I shrug. "I'd have gone with 'nihilistic,' myself. Go ahead if you want."

I can almost hear her eyes roll. "All right, well... the apartment doesn't belong to us. If it did, we could fight Billie about letting you stay if she even had an issue with it. For my part, I don't think she does, aside from the smell or whatever. I guess I got used to it." She shrugs, pausing to clear her throat. "We pay rent on the place, but we pay rent to Billie's mom, and that's where the draconian shit comes from."

I yawn, wondering if any input is necessary. "Uh huh?" Eh, good enough. I mentioned I'm fucking tired, right?

"Yeah. So that's what's up with that. I tell Billie every so often she should try to renegotiate that shit, since she's older now than when she started living on her own, and it's just bullshit for a grown adult to live under rules like these, right? I don't even think her mom would be that strict about shit, Billie's just... I don't know. She's got a REALLY sweet place and we don't even pay that much for it, so I think she just wants to play it safe there."

I sigh. "Cautious bitch... with all the job-searching I've done, I didn't even get to use the fucking _pool_. I was gonna do that tonight."

She laughs. "Well at least you've got priorities. They're _wrong_ , but they're priorities."

"Yeah, fuck you, too. So why doesn't her mom live there?"

"Huh? Oh. She teaches at some university out of state, women's studies or something like that. But Billie was in college when she got that job, so she just kept the apartment and let her stay in to finish school, and they just kept the deal going. But that's why I don't think her mom would be real strict about shit, because Billie's not in school anymore. She doesn't _need_  those rules."

I nod, thinking. "Guess that explains why Billie knows so fucking much about feminism."

"Yeah, that's pretty much why."

"Does her mom know she fucking trash-talks it on stage?"

Audie laughs. "Yeah, I bet she does, but I think she's a smart enough lady to know they're only jokes. Besides, every movement needs someone on their side who'll call them out on their bullshit. Nobody's right _all_ the time."

"Yeah... I guess that makes sense."

 

Harry blinks his half-lidded, semi-stoned eyes as Audie finishes her description of the morning's events. "Huh... okay. Well, I'm goin' back to sleep. Don't get too crazy, and if you start smokin', make sure you don't burn the couch."

I drop my bags by the couch and set my glasses atop them, yawning as I grip the bottom of my shirt and pull. Fuck smoking, I'm tired. What time is it? You know what, I don't think I want to know. I'll just hop on the couch and lie down to- I grumble softly as I feel someone else weigh down the cushion beside me. "What're you doing?" I mumble, scooting to make room.

"Hey," she says, sounding about as tired as I feel. "Figure we can take a rain check on the fun part, but do you wanna just sleep together anyway?"

A warm, fuzzy feeling creeps up my back as she asks, but before I can answer I feel her warm, fuzzy body creep up against me. I swallow as I think to myself, 'Hey, it's just a drill, don't get excited down there,' but a dick don't listen and a dick don't care. 'All right, fine. But you're wasting your effort.' I roll onto my side slowly, and cautiously wrap an arm around her. She shifts as well, pressing her back into my chest as my paw feels nothing but fur. The wayward appendage slithers around curiously, wondering if she's wearing a bra or...

"Hey, I just figured I'd sleep. You wanna quit poking around?" she mutters, as I let my paw hang limp over her torso. "If you really _want_ , you can go down low and take me to Candyland."

I sigh. Always got something funny to say, doesn't she? "All right, sleep's cool, too." A little thought pokes its head up, and I consider it. Is it a little mean? Perhaps, but she's a good sport. I shift slightly and pull her close, holding her gently. "Yeah, sleep's the thing. Just lie still and wait for the warm embrace of sleep to wrap you in its arms." Half-ass, half-asleep poetry time it is. Just lie there and listen as I lull you to sleep. "Relax. Empty your mind. Close your eyes... close your big, Marty Feldmouse eyes and drOOF"

I cough as she elbows me in the chest, struggling not to laugh as she whispers a litany of laugh-rippled expletives silenced suddenly by the keening wail of a foghorn. FUCK. "Okay, okay, let me go shut that up, you can beat the crap out of me here in just a second," I growl, climbing over her laughing, half-naked body to pull my phone from my bag. I squint at the screen, unable to make out the number, though I can see where to poke to decline the call. I pause with my finger over the screen, reminded suddenly that I may not be able to afford to decline it. After all, most of this city is working right now, and that includes most of the folks who might have work for me.

I let it ring for a while longer, neglectful of the fact that it may well be waking neighboring apartments. I jab the screen to accept and hold it to my ear, speaking quickly and agitatedly. "Hello?" A woman answers. She knows my name, and she says she's got everything done on her end. What's her end? Hang on. "W-wait... what? Okay, that doesn't tell me any-... _Who_ did you find? ...Oh. Wait, _seriously?_ I thought even the cops didn't know..." I pause, listening. "...Oh. Did I say that? Oh, fuck..." Shit. Shit, shit,  _shit_. This is going to end in tears, but I remember agreeing to that. "All right, well, what's it pay?"


	53. Classified

I run a paw over my head, trying to straighten my fur out. There's no way in hell I've had enough sleep for this. Cheese and rice, I can't _teach!_ I don't even know what the fuck I'm getting into! This has to be illegal on some level. Shit, maybe even several. I'm only one or two steps above them just pulling a fucking bum off the streets to fill in! Audie tried to pump me up, but she's full of shit. 'Teachers are hot,' she said. _Bullshit_. Teachers are only hot in some kind of Stockholm-syndrome way, where lonely underage girls who don't understand their emotions yet get obsessed with the young... oh fuck, I'll never be able to listen to _Don't Stand So Close To Me_ again! Goddamnit, Stink's my favorite, and now one of his biggest hits is going to give me panic attacks!

For once, Harry was more helpful than Audie with his standard suggestion of 'take a hit off this, bro.' Besides Marta and whoever she's working with changing their minds, nip is about the only thing that can calm me down even slightly. I step off the bus and look up at the building before me, resisting the urge to simply turn and run. I'm not up for this. I'm not capable of this. I did _terribly_ in school, and school where I'm from isn't really anything you can compare to this. I give myself a shake and push forward, struggling a bit with the door. Son of a bitch, every door in this fucking city... I can't help but think I'd have a bunch of shit kids laughing at me if there were any around this early. But I _need_ to do this. Clever as she is, Marta wouldn't give me the information I need over the phone; for that, I'll have to check in with her husband.

The halls are wide, especially so when I'm the only one in them. You could probably hear a flea fart in this place. There's no sound aside from the tiny click of my claws on the floor and the occasional flicker of a fluorescent tube overhead. I stop in front of a door I've passed through before, taking a deep breath as I grip the handle and pull. Leonard, seated at a tiny desk atop a larger one, nods to me and rises, sliding down a ladder to greet me properly. Fuck, I'm a pretty small mammal, but I can't imagine being a least weasel surrounded by creatures as large as wolves. I'm scared enough of being stepped on as it is.

He approaches me with a paw extended. "Reese! Good evening. I'm glad you actually came through on this, we're in a pretty rotten position over here and-"

I shake his paw, but I don't let him finish. "Yeah, hey, Leonard. I figured that out when you had to hire a homeless fucker and fake some credentials just so he could pretend to teach. Do you have the the information?"

He hums quietly, pulling a tiny envelope from his pocket and offering it to me. "Yeah. I hope that leads to something, because Marta was furious when she got hold of it. But _really_ , thank you for doing this. We have a hard enough time finding teachers, let alone substitutes."

I grip the envelope anxiously, looking at it a little too long before returning my attention to Leonard. "Yeah. I kinda got the feeling when you-"

He holds a paw up, nodding. "I know, I know. This isn't something you want to do, and from what I've seen on ZooTube, you're probably not an ideal candidate to begin with." Oh great. I don't need another critic, I can do that myself. "But you've got a degree, it's halfway relevant to our needs, and you've got experience with public speaking and hostile crowds. You'll do."

"Hang on a second. How hostile?"

"Don't take that the wrong way. These kids aren't comedy-club drunks, and you're not gonna encounter anything like hecklers, I'm sure, but substitutes don't have it easy. You're experienced at standing up in front of crowds, is what I'm getting at."

I scratch my chin, offering a small shrug of acknowledgement. "Yeah... since you said my degree is relevant, what am I teaching, drama?"

"No, you're filling in for one of our English teachers. If the students ask, she should be back in a few days. More importantly for you, she left detailed instructions, a lesson plan, a copy of the syllabus... I don't figure you'll have much trouble with the material."

Great. At least I'm not teaching math. "All right," I sigh, stuffing the envelope in my bag. "Who do I hit up for the paycheck?" He makes a face at that. "Hey, don't give me that fucking look! I'm lucky not to be living on the goddamn street right now!"

He nods. "No, no, I understand. The principal will cut you a check at the end of each night. Students should be showing up pretty soon here," he adds, looking to the wall clock. "You'll be in the next room. Your schedule is two blocks of three periods with lunch in between. You'll have about ten minutes between each period to get some coffee from the lounge, hit the restroom, whatever you need. But a couple things first. This is a _school_ , remember that. Not a comedy club. Keep the language PG. I know that might not be easy for you, given your usual vocabulary, but you'll have to try."

I try to hold in a sigh. "I guarantee there's nothing in my vocabulary these kids haven't already heard."

"I'm sure that's true, but we'd prefer you stay professional," he adds calmly, holding his paws out innocently. "Now the second thing. I understand you're under a lot of stress, but if you're going to try to fight that with nip, wipe yourself down with a dryer sheet before you get here." Fuck. He can smell that? It was one hit, and it was almost an hour ago. "We need you here sober and presentable."

"It's... no, I- I stayed with a friend, you'd get a contact high just from stepping into his place, it's not like-"

"Look, it's not a big deal as long as you're not on the planet Jupiter. We've had subs show up drunk, and they were actually _certified_. The district doesn't like to send their best and brightest to the night school."

"I'm shocked." My voice, and my expression, are flat. "You mean the city doesn't do their best for predators?"

"We'll have to continue this at lunch, I'm afraid," he shrugs, as a loud, electric chime echoes through the building.

 

I climb down from the ladder and look at the dingy whiteboard, frowning at my large-scale penmanship. It looks like a goddamn child wrote that, but hopefully that's all the writing I have to do for the next few days. I climb into the teacher's chair - just my luck I'm substituting for someone several size categories larger - and peek over the desktop at the class, most of whom are half-asleep. "Uh... hello. In case anyone didn't tell you, Ms. Hunt will be out for a few days, and uh... I'm all they could find to replace her. My name is-" A smallish wolf raises a paw, attracting my attention. "Uh, yes?"

"Why you smell like my daddy's apartment?" A raucous laugh spreads through the room, derailing everything mere seconds into the start of my first day- uh, night. I never should have agreed to this.

Unfortunately for the young lady, I've put hecklers in their place before. "I can probably guess why your mom kicked him out, but if you don't know what that smell is, I'd say you need to get out more." I glance back to the few notes I've got in my paw as the laughter swells once again. Maybe this won't be that bad. "All right, so Ms. Hunt left me some notes saying you were about to start reading... oh. Shakesheare." Shit, if there's one thing I know, it's Shakesheare. "She also said she was- SHUT UP BACK THERE. Thank you. She also said she was going to let you vote on which play... well that's just a godda- that seems like a mistake, but let's humor her for a moment."

I set one sheet down on the desktop and read the list of candidates. It's a short list, only two options. Ramlet is the first. Shit, I know Ramlet backwards and forwards! I've _played_ Ramlet. I had already figured on ignoring whatever the class voted, but now I _know_ I will because the next candidate is the worst, most overhyped, most widely-misrepresented and misinterpreted 'I just wrote this for the paycheck' title imaginable: Rameo and Eweliette. God, just reading the name makes me want to puke. It's a fine play on its own, to be perfectly honest, but there's so much goddamn baggage that society has stuffed into, around, and all over it over the years that its merits are completely overshadowed by how wrongly everyone reads the situation.

I clear my throat. "Okay, we're going to play a game. I don't mean to turn this into a civics class, but you're all getting a lesson in the way the world works for the next thirty seconds. We can read Ramlet or we can read Rameo and Eweliette. Raise your paw if you'd like to read Ramlet." I count five paws... no, make that four. Some joker's raised both of his. "All right, four paws. That's not promising. Raise your paw if you'd like to read Rameo and Eweliette..." Lots of paws. Great. "I see that a lot of you would rather read that one. However several of you didn't vote for either one, maybe because you don't want to read, or maybe you're asleep like the guy up front here." A lion is poked awake by one of his neighbors and looks around, startled. "So the will of the class is that you read Rameo and Eweliette. However, I have been put in charge, and Ramlet is a much better play to-"

Minutes later, after I've calmed the riot, I pace back and forth across the desktop with my paws behind my back. I stop and point to a bobcat sitting in the front row. "You!"

"Uh, Bridget," she stammers, caught off-guard.

"You should all probably save your breath because I won't remember any of your names after I try to drink tonight away. But yes, you, Bridget. Why do you want to read Rameo and Eweliette?"

She blinks. "Well... because it's, like, the most famous roman-"

"WRONG. It's NOT a romance, it's a TRAGEDY. There are romantic tones to it, I'll give you that, but they're _c_ _rap_."

The wolf from earlier pipes up. "Uh-uh, it's a romance, what are you smokin'?"

"You can smell what I'm smoking but you can't _name_ it? There's a stoner sitting right behind you, ask _him_ for crying out loud!" Another burst of laughter, but I cut it short with a raised paw. "Don't look at him, he's paranoid enough." The young badger sinks in his seat, scanning the room with his bloodshot eyes. "Okay. Who can tell me what happens in Rameo and Eweliette?"

A lanky fox raises his paw. "Boy meets girl, they fall in love, they die?"

"Close. You left out the part where they only know each other for a few days and several of their family members _kill_ each other. How many of you have boyfriends or girlfriends? I realize this is a freshman class, so you're a little young still, but- okay, several of you. Especially you two over there, who keep texting each other. YES I can see that, you're staring at your own crotches! Put them away! How many days does it take to fall in actual love? Anyone? Anyone? RIGHT. None of you know, because none of you are old enough to even know! So how about we read about the guy who pretends to go insane and kills his uncle? Doesn't that sound like fun?!"

 

Harry sighs. "Look. I'm sorry, dude, but you gotta do it."

"You don't understand! They're MONSTERS! I'm not going in there again, don't you even fucking try!!" I struggle against his grip as he drags me by the scruff up the stairs and into the school.

"Well then... do whatever you gotta do to get through it, because I can't hide you in my apartment all night! The fuckin' landlord's gonna figure it out and then we're _both_ on the street, man! I saw you bought a pack of cigarettes, just do that between classes!"

I spent most of last night's pay on cigarettes and alcohol. You know, the very thing schools are supposed to prevent. I'm not proud of it. My throat is sore, I have a _vicious_ hangover, and I look like shit. "Have you ever tried to do six hour-long shows a night, Harry? Where you weren't allowed to drink, smoke, or cuss out the hecklers?! CHEESE AND RICE, Harry, THEY HECKLE. They heckle, and I can't do anything about it, and they KNOW IT."

An aging civet in a suit sighs, staring at us. "Do I have to remind you two that swearing isn't permitted, even outside of school hours?" she asks, crossing her arms. "Thanks for bringing him in, though. He's not drunk, is he?"

I scramble to my feet as Harry drops me in front of the principal. "Nah, but he's pretty hung over."

She cocks her head slightly. "Well that alone puts him in the top fifty percent of substitutes we've had. Come along, mister Cadogan." Harry turns and leaves as she leads me down the hall. "I want to remind you that what you're doing isn't unappreciated and is certainly not going unnoticed. We have a very hard time finding, much less  _retaining_ substitutes ever since the district instated their unwritten policy that schooling should only happen during the day."

I stick my glasses in my shirt pocket and rub my forehead vigorously, trying to massage away the pain. It doesn't work - it never works, I should know that - but it makes me feel less helpless. "Well why don't you fight them about it?"

She laughs. "You really _are_ a comedian. You think every member of faculty here hasn't been fighting to keep this school open at night? Just think of what that would do to nocturnal families! It would be devastating to them, but we have a city-level administration made up of accountants and MBAs with no educators among them, and the only thing that matters to them is numbers."

"No, I mean actually _fight_ them. Physically. Go in with sticks and bats! Beat the shit out of the administrators, burn their building to the ground!"

She sighs halfheartedly. "Tempting. What's this I hear about you having the students vote and ignoring it? It doesn't sound like good technique to me, good teachers tend to engage their students."

"The students voted wrong."

"Wrong _ly_."

Cheese and rice, this fucking woman. "All right, Shirley, which one of us is the English teacher?"

She looks sideways at me. "...Mmm, neither of us, I think."

"That's goddamn right. The students voted for Rameo and Eweliette over Ramlet, what was I supposed to do? Inflict that on them along with the associated cultural baggage of four hundred years of misinterpretation?"

"Well, you could have turned it into a learning experience, couldn't you?" she huffs, sounding exasperated but at the same time somehow... understanding. "Highlight its flaws, compare it to other works, _something!_ Leonard told me you at least studied Shakesheare, surely you can some up with better than that!"

I stop. "Look. I'm not a teacher. I'm barely good enough to substitute for one night, let alone three. Do you know how I make a living? I clean fish and I curse on stage. I'm not the best you've got, and I'm not the best you can do, but I was desperate enough to get tricked into doing it. When Ms. Hunt... Dinah, whatever her name is, when she gets back, you can forget ALL about me, unless you need some fish or you want to hear dirty language through a microphone." She sighs, shaking her head as I put my glasses back on. "I mean that. I need the work, and Fedor's prices are pretty good."

 

I shuffle back into the room just as lunch ends and fourth period begins, my belly full of coffee and my breath stinking of cigarettes. As crazy as it sounds, I actually miss Fedor's policy towards drinking on the job. Maybe tomorrow I'll try to sneak something in. What are they gonna do? _Fire_ me? I don't think I'll ever be putting this on any resume anyway. Aside from the potential legal issues, I fully intend to drink these memories away as soon as I'm able. "All right. Open your books, we're reading Act II."

"The bell hasn't rung yet," one student remarks over the roar of chatter that issues from the rest of their colleagues.

I climb atop the desk and cross my arms, waiting only seconds before the electric tone heralds the beginning of class. "There, I'm sure you had a _lot_ to say in those seven seconds. Now, does anyone want to summarize Act I?" Nothing. Just a bunch of eyes blinking and ears twitching. I sigh, mentally chastising myself for thinking just one of my classes might have remembered something. I figured one of the later periods would be awake enough to retain something. They get rowdier as the night passes, to be sure, but I'd have thought they'd have a little focus!

"All right, then!" I turn on the overhead projector, kicking it as it flickers until it lights up as it should. Laying across a boiling-hot projector isn't very comfortable, but it's a lot more convenient than trying to write on the whiteboard, where the exaggerated motions necessary to write large enough can make me fall off the ladder. "Okay, let's start with the characters. Does anybody remember the characters?"

A hyena raises her paw and I nod to her. "Ramlet," she says.

I nod, writing it down. Low-hanging fruit, but at least she's engaging. "Good. Anyone else?"

A ferret in the front row stands, trying to raise his paw high enough for me to see. "The king," he calls out, dropping back down once I've pointed to him.

I scribble 'the king' on the projector, looking back to the class. "...Well? Anyone else?" Silence. "Okay, I guess it's a two-man play with just Ramlet and the ghost of his dead dad. Kind of takes it in an entirely different direction, since apparently there's no one to have even killed the king and usurped the throne."

A hyena stifles a laugh. Hyenas... goddamn double-edged swords, every last one of them. They'll laugh easier than most other mammals, which can be good because they can start a genuine wave of laughter. Unfortunately, they laugh easier than most other mammals, so they can make you think you're killing when you're dying. A wolf raises his paw and I point to him as he smirks. "Ophelia. Bitch wants THE D!" Cue uproarious laughter from the rest of the class. It'd be funny to me if it weren't the fourth time I'd heard that joke tonight.

I write 'Ophelia' dutifully on the projector. "Ha ha, ha ha. Laugh it up."

Another student calls out "The Little Mermaid!" without so much as raising a paw.

I look up from the projector, trying to figure out who the goddamn comedian is. "There's no mermaid in Ramlet."

A tiger in the back stops snickering long enough to speak. "There probably is, the Dutch love them some mermaids."

"Danish. Ramlet is _Danish_ , not Dutch. And while there does happen to be a famous mermaid story from Denmark, Ramlet isn't it."

"Well, I guess you'd know, since you dated her." Several of the students burst into laughter, inciting the others to laugh at least halfheartedly just by proximity. I can tell they don't get the joke; I hear the same kind of laughter in comedy clubs every time a joke goes over most of the audience's heads.

My attention snaps to the young tiger. "What?" What the hell is that supposed to mean? He can't mean... shit, wait a minute. The mermaid bit. Have these assholes been looking me up on ZooTube? I shake my head. I don't need to worry about that kind of shit. I clear my throat and look back to the projector. "Let's leave my love life out of this and focus on the play, shall we? Can anyone else name a character. Any of them, there's a couple dozen to choose from." The same tiger raises his paw. "If you say the mermaid's sister, I'm going to stomp your tail at the root."

The ensuing laughter dies down long enough for another student to throw in an off-topic comment. "Damn, don't be a beast, man!"

I feel my blood run cold. Wait. Don't be a beast? Fuck, when did they say they were going to start that campaign? Cheese and rice, I don't need anything that makes me more noteworthy around here. I'm just trying to not starve! Can't a guy collect a fraudulently-earned paycheck for a few days without teenagers making fun of him? I look at the young vixen who said it just as she high-fives her neighbor.

 

The next night is worse. I know these little pricks know exactly who I am, and sure enough, my face has been plastered onto walls in public spaces, onto the sides of buses, and even AROUND THE FUCKING SCHOOL. Needless to say, most of the money I've earned here has either ended up being inhaled into my lungs and coughed out or poured down my throat and eventually ejected from my bladder. I'm not a teacher. I'm not a teacher! I'm a fucking ACTOR. I'm supposed to go up in front of an audience whose only input is applause at the end of the performance, I'm not supposed to be... fuck, I'd rather _direct_ than teach! At least that way I'd have some goddamn authority!

"K-K-K-KILLER CADOGAN," someone shouts. I don't understand why. Does it sound funny to them? It doesn't sound funny to any of my friends, and _everything's_ funny to those assholes. Yet here I am, standing away from the building, trying to enjoy a fucking cigarette on my lunch break, and some little bastard - chronologically speaking - has to make fun of me for my name. It's like I never left home, except they're not throwing me in a cesspit.

Leonard approaches with a friendly expression, paws in his pockets. "You know, it sends a bad message for the students to see their teacher smoking."

"Hey, I could have filled a water bottle with vodka and brought that in."

He cringes slightly, but nods. "That... would be a worse message."

I shrug. "It'd _look_ like water. Hell, vodka's sixty percent water, isn't that a passing grade?" I watch as he clamps his mouth closed, stifling a grin at my remark. "Given that a number of them have discovered me on ZooTube, I don't think anything I do here can send any worse of a message."

He nods, crossing his arms. "Well, from what I've seen of your material, probably not. I knew you weren't an ideal choice for this, but I was able to convince Shirley to give you a chance."

"Yeah. Thanks for that, and I'm only being half-sarcastic here. I mean, at least I'm not starving. And tell Marta thanks, I sent that stuff she found to my insurance company, maybe _they'll_ do something since the fucking police won't."

"Well, at least the students like you. If they've been watching you on ZooTube like you think they have, maybe that's why... are you _sure_ they've been watching your videos?"

I take a deep drag from my cigarette and exhale slowly. "I'm certain of it. So far tonight, several kids in each period have made references to my jokes or to the videos I've been in. It's kind of disturbing, but it's... fuck. Flattering? I don't know. It's fucking weird. I've never really been recognized for anything, and now my red ass is on half the bus stops in this city."

"Yeah... I've been meaning to talk to you about some of your videos myself, these new ones you did for the city in particular. I don't think they're really putting forward a good image for mustelids, and-"

Oh god DAMNIT. "Hey, can you not? At least not tonight? I have enough on my mind without being told I'm 'reinforcing negative stereotypes' or something. Yes, I _have_ been reading your emails, I just haven't replied because I've been a little busy just trying to survive lately."

He backs down, holding his paws up as he shelves that conversation. "All right, all right... I understand you've had it pretty rough, I'll let it sit. On another subject, Shirley actually thinks you've done well enough that she'd like to keep you on as a regular substitute."

I pull the cigarette from my mouth and snuff it in my fingers, not blinking once as I stare balefully into Leonard's eyes. "You tell her she's out of her fucking _mind_ if she thinks I'll-"

"We're desperate to have a regular substitute, Reese. She's offering a hundred fifteen per day if you'll agree to this, and we can train you in anything you're lacking."

I sigh. Goddamnit. I don't want to, but I need that fucking money! "Fuck. All right, just... let me think about it." I reach for another cigarette just as the end of lunch bell sounds, scratching my head instead. "Once more unto the breach," I sigh.


	54. Wanted:

"GODDAMNIT, PUT ME DOWN! WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU-"

I'm thrown into the back of a car, smacking against the opposite door panel. I look around, rubbing my head, and try to get a look around. Hard plastic seats... metal and plexiglass divider... smells like pee. Son of a bitch, I'm in the back of a cop car. I hear the front doors shut and feel the car take off, nearly losing my balance. "Hey, aren't you supposed to strap me in or something you fucking assholes?!" I receive no response, and am left to fend for myself as the maniac up front tries to bang me around on every turn.

After a harrowing journey - and barfing all over the inside of the car, take  _that_ , you fucking pig! - we come to a stop and I lift my head, releasing my deathgrip on the seatbelt just in time to be shoved roughly into a heavy cloth sack. "OH WHAT THE FUCK! YOU SON OF A BITCH, I HAVE CIVIL RIGHTS, YOU CAN'T JUST THROW ME IN A BAG! I HOPE YOU'RE TAKING ME THROUGH THE FRONT FUCKING DOOR SO EVERYONE CAN SEE THIS. LOOK! LOOK, EVERYBODY! THIS IS THE ZPD! _FUCK_ YOU. WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE I'M EATING YOUR FUCKING EYES ON TOAST!"

My assailant upends the bag, dumping me onto a cheap chair in a dark room. I cough and rise to my feet, straightening my glasses, and begin to look around just as they turn on an uncomfortably bright light aimed right at me. I hiss, raising a paw to shield my eyes, and someone speaks.

"We know it was you."

"What? Know _what_ was me? I've been busy drinking all night, when do you think I managed to fit in... whatever the _fuck_ you think I did?"

"Shut up! You're the only mammal who'd have a reason, now just admit it, or we'll _make_ you!"

I clear my throat, rubbing my aching head. "I thought you called those motives, but I guess there's not a lot of schooling required to be a badge-wearing thug, is there?" I feel my fur prickle as I hear knuckles crack in the corner. There are two of the fuckers in here, and I'm positive they're a hundred times my size at least. Fuck... my mouth is going to get me killed this morning.

A long stick - well, long for me - clatters to the table, covered in simple, crude symbols and topped with the decapitated head of a big black ~~coc~~ rooster. "What the hell is _this_ , huh?" the unseen copper asks. "This some kind of sick joke? We've got you for more than just petty vandalism right here. Trespassing, defacement of property, making terrorist threats-"

"What the FUCK are you smoking?! I can't afford a goddamn roof over my head, but you think I can get my paws on a fucking CHICKEN HEAD?" Fuck. I know  _exactly_ what that is, and I'd be laughing my ass off right now if I weren't about to be killed. Shit, I need to think...  _fuck, it hurts to think!_ Play it cool. They can't prove this. Right? Right. I take a deep breath and look where I think my interrogator is. "All right. You know what? Prove it. Fucking prove it, you son of a bitch, I'd LOVE to see how you think I did this."

"SHUT UP!" The other guy speaks, his voice shaking the room with thunderous volume. "You think you can just pull this voodoo shit in _my_ town? You've got another thing coming, you little rodent. We have all kinds of unsolved cases we can pin on somebody matching your description, and-"

I laugh, looking over at the dark shape in the corner. "FUCK you! Matching MY description?! Good fucking luck with that, you idiot!  What the fuck makes you think you can pin shit on me, much less whatever the fuck THIS is?" I ask, throwing a paw towards the creepy stick on the table.

The other brute interrupts. "Because you're the only mammal in this city who'd have a problem with-" he stops.

I narrow my eyes, looking straight across the table. "With who? Because I can tell you there's only one mammal in this city I _would_ have a problem with, and all I've heard from your inept fucking department is that you don't know who he is. So maybe you want to tell _me_ something, instead."

"Don't play games with us."

"Motherfucker, don't play games with _me!_ If you think I'd have a reason to fuck with this guy, say what it is. Just fucking say it, but let me get my phone out so I have it on record!"

I hear hoofsteps followed by muffled bickering, unintelligible from where I sit, and finally a low-pitched sigh issues from the far corner. "Get the fuck out. If we ever see you again, we'll be scraping you off the sidewalk, got it?"

I hop down from the chair and squint, looking for the door. "I can't see shit with that light on, are you gonna let me out or what?"

Moments later, as I stumble through the back halls of whichever station this is, I pause for a moment to terror-vomit on the floor. FUCK. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. The adrenalin's wearing off and I'm shaking like a leaf. Where's the goddamn exit in this place? There! I scramble towards the door and push through into the midday sun, breathing deeply the sweet smell of freedom. What the fuck did I _do_ last night? I just remember hitting that little liquor store with the Mongol clerk, and then I went to Audie's for... heh... heheh. Hehehe! I begin to laugh uncontrollably, walking along the sidewalk in search of a bus stop or a subway station. Cheese and rice, Harry's gotta hear this. I pull my phone from my bag and dial him up, uncaring as to whether I'm interrupting his sleep or his smoking. "HARRY! Holy shit, man, you're not gonna fucking believe this."

He takes a while to respond. Must have been sleeping. "Okay. What?"

"You remember I found out whose chair I hit, right?"

"Yeah. I 'member. What about it?"

"Well... I got really fucking drunk last night, and you're not gonna believe this, I put a _curse_ on the dumb bastard!"

 

I roll over on Harry's couch, squinting at my phone as it bellows its alarm. Who the fuck is... Fedor? That fat fucker?! This had better be good, goddamnit. I grab it and paw at the screen, one of my fingers eventually striking just the right spot to pick up, and I clear a mass of mucus from my throat. "What?"

" _Khorosho ty yeshche zhivesh_ '. Where are you?" he asks, sounding winded. I don't understand half of what he said, but I recognize the tone. He sounds... relieved.

"Wh-where _am_ I?!" Is this motherfucker calling me out for being late to work or something WITHOUT TELLING ME HE'S BACK? "Fuck, Fedor, where do you THINK I am?! I'm on my friend's couch because you didn't tell me I was working tonight! Did you pickle your goddamn brain with all that vodka or something?"

I hear a groan and a thump from Fedor's end. "No, this good. Yeah, I forget sometimes, it's true. But this time good for _you_. Don't worry about coming to work."

What the- "Wha... wait. Wait, are you firing me? For YOUR fuckup?" The nerve of this motherfucker! After everything he's put me through - the constant exposure to the dark underbelly of society, the unnecessary risks, the fucking _birthday_ incident - if he thinks he's going to fire me, he'd better think the fuck twice.

He laughs. "Fire you?! _Chto za khren'_ , why I fire crazy shit like _you?_ No, no, no. I say don't come in because shop is broken. Heh, dumb fuckers think they break in and wait for someone with bats and sticks? Not in my fucking shop. So not firing, shop eh... shop probably not worth fixing."

Oh. Oh no. Fuck, I need my job, I can't lose it for good. I'm one bad night away from living on the street, and I don't mean in a van, shit's for _real_ this time! "A-are you sure you don't need help cleaning up? Or checking the stock, or... fuck, if you've got guys there, can't you ransom them back to their boss or something? We can fix the fucking shop, what do you need help with? Cutting off fingers? I could try that, I mean, I might barf a lot at first, but I'd run out of bile after a while. "

I can hear him stifle a chuckle. "Is helpful thought, but no, probably better you stay out of Tundratown. After you kill cockfight king, maybe they waiting for _you_."

No. No... why would they send hitmen to... oh cheese and rice, I need to sit down. How long have I been standing? Was I pacing on the goddamn couch? Hitmen. _Hit. Men._ For a fucking _rooster?_ "That's... why would they... are you fucking serious?"

He pauses, perhaps to shrug. Strange how some gestures are so deeply-rooted that we'd make them even when we know we can't be seen. "Not sure. I don't think I do anything lately to get on a shit list, but you probably REALLY piss Yakovlev off. Vel'zevul was worth thousands... probably won that fuck millions per year, and when too old to fight, make money as breeding stud." He sniffs. "You fuck old yak in _ass_ , but he deserve it. He on long, downward slide anyway, probably not last a year before someone kill the fuck."

I run a paw nervously over my head. "So... so what about the shop? I need to _eat_ , Fedor, and I need a reliable income. Unfortunately for me, both of those kind of depend on you being in business."

I hear a long sigh. "I don't know. I think about going legit lately, or maybe just retire. Spend time with family, spend time fishing. What, you don't have other job anymore?"

"No, I mean... yeah, I do, but hosting a weekly open-mic and opening for my friends on occasion isn't gonna get me an apartment, man. I can't live off that, not unless I'm catching pigeons or poaching fish from the park."

I think I hear someone moan in the background. "All right. I ask around, see if anyone need worker."

"FUCK no! I'm not working for any of your mob buddies, and I'm _definitely_ not doing anymore birthdays!"

He laughs for a while, too long I'd say, before catching his breath. "Okay. I ask _legitimate_ business contacts if need worker. Better?"

I rub my eyes with my free paw, groaning nervously. "Fuck... all right. Hey, one last thing, uh... did anything happen to that bucket of mine?"

"What, your goddamn salty herring bucket?" I hear footsteps and the squeak of a door. "No, bucket fine. Why?"

"Do you think you can-"

I hear the telltale snapping of a plastic bucket lid coming off and he begins to spit and curse. "What the fuck!!"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's probably a little ripe by now, but I figure I might try stress-eating since I've been having a rough night." First the cops are out to get me, now the _mob_ is, too? Harry jokes that Norm got big from eating his feelings. Maybe it works, I don't know. I'll try anything to not feel terrified. "If you can bring me that bucket, I'd appreciate it."

" _Bozhe, eto vonyayet!_ All right, I bring this shit wherever, as long as you get it out of my life! No mammal should eat this shit, what the fuck wrong with you?!"

"Goddamn... well, it was only supposed to sit for a week, but SOMEBODY closed up the shop without fucking telling me!"

 

Since I'm still unemployed, quite possibly for good this time, I've followed Harry to the Electric Embryo. If it were up to me, I'd have had little problem with just sleeping on his couch all night, taking occasional breaks to pilfer his stash or fall down a spiraling pit of depression, but he didn't want to risk the landlord sneaking in and catching an unauthorized guest. Granted he'd never find me if I heard him coming, but it's probably better for my mental health that I have company, to be honest. Harry's kind enough to share the WiFi password and point me to an open outlet by a beanbag, so I shouldn't end up bored, anyw- "Oh goddamnit!"

Harry looks up from his work - tonight, a few heavy metal magazines he's been meaning to read - and stares at me. "What now?"

"It's... goddamnit. Audie's been posting shit on her fucking Chirpr."

He blinks, silent for a long moment. "Shit, man, you should call the cops, I think that's a crime."

"That's not-" I glance over at Harry, my expression a cold dish of displeasure and indignation. "I don't mean _that_ she's been posting, I mean _what_ she's been posting, you dick." This fucking guy... I can't really blame him. I walked right into that, as I often do, and he was waiting for me, holding the door open with one paw as the other held ready a perfectly-timed cream pie of wit and hilarity.

He looks back to his magazine, trying to find his place in the article once more. "She talkin' about weird shit you do, or somethin'?" He reaches for the soda on the counter near him, sipping quietly. "You tell her you're a warlock yet? She probably ought to get tested, make sure she didn't catch magical MPV or something, I hear it makes you grow dicks all over."

What is _with_ this guy? "No, she's been sharing private things we've been texting each other. All those goddamn horrible pickup lines, even the ones I came up with, and if _that_ wasn't enough, she hasn't credited me!"

Harry clamps his lips shut and coughs, narrowly avoiding spraying his magazine as well as other merchandise with diet root beer. "Oh fuck, some of those are you? Which ones?" he asks, his face lighting up. "Wait. You two have been sending each other pickup lines? Holy fuck, dude!" he laughs, his belly jiggling like a hairy sack of gravy.

"What the fuck's funny about that? It's a running joke between us, like Chet and Norm with their 'yo mama' jokes, and..." I sigh. "And mine are the less-funny ones, if I had to guess. 'Are you an angler? Because I'd let you handle _my_ rod.' Shit like that."

He chuckles. "Heh. Gross."

"Man, fuck you. At least I _get_ laid."

"Ha! See? All those jokes about bein' totally unfuckable, when all you needed was to meet the right lady."

I grunt, scrolling through more posts. "I don't think I'd call her a _lady_ , to be honest."

"...Why, she got a wiener or something?" He puts on a serious face. "Did she catch MMPV from you and grow one?"

"I... what? No! No."

"Uh huh. You'd know, wouldn't you?" he teases, holding back a laugh. I can hear it in his voice.

"Man, what the fuck are you, _twelve?_ Are you gonna start singing that fucking song again? Seriously, we're adults. I mean, if _she_ wants to make bad decisions, that's fine as long as she's not ruining her life with shit like coke or pills." I huff, closing the tab and looking up something more enjoyable than everyone in the world's bullshit served up one hundred forty characters at a time. "And like I said, at least I _get_ pussy. What's your excuse?"

He shrugs. "Meh. I'm fat and gross and a dork, I've made my peace with it. But you should know by now that I'm an asshole, and so is every other comic in the world, dude! Anyone we know could be run over by a truck and we'd be cracking jokes about them as soon as the ambulance scraped 'em off the road, you know that. It's a coping mechanism, in a lot of ways. We laugh at our world, we laugh at our friends, and we laugh at ourselves. It keeps us from takin' shit too seriously, you know? Life's kinda shitty a lot of the time. The world needs assholes like you, me, Audie... we're the clowns that bring folks a smile as the psychopaths who run business and government try to drive the planet into destruction."

I lay my phone on my chest as I breathe a lengthy, exasperated sigh. "Dude, why the fuck did you leave school? You're dropping this kind of shit on me and you work in a _record store?_ "

He shrugs. "That's exactly the kind of mushroom-gobbling philosophy you'd _only_ hear in a record store, dude. Besides, it's not like I did super good in school, anyway. My brain cramps up on tests, man, and a lot of folks burn out just a few years after graduating, and the fucking LOANS, dude... the loans are fucking _brutal_. So I said fuck it and went for the more personal approach instead, sellin' folks records and 'tobacco' pipes and telling jokes about my farts in front of an audience. Life is what you make it, bro, and I decided I wanted to make mine fun."

"Man... goddamnit, why are you always right."

 

“They’re _dead!_ ” I sob, wiping my nose. “They’re dead and they’re gone and he’s alone, and he’ll _always_ be alone, and they’re gonna be put in a museum and nobody will ever know he loved them!” I cry. I take another drink from my cup, sniffling and hiccuping.

“Cheese and crackers, maybe _Land Before Time_ wasn’t such a good idea,” Harry sighs, his buzz thoroughly killed by my drunken display of emotion.

“Oh, you  _think?_ ” replies Audie, clamped firmly in my arms as I bury my face in her shoulder and soak her shirt with salty tears. “I fucking told you that, but you know better, right? Let’s make sure the craziest fucker we know gets fucked up before watching the saddest movie in the world. I hope he casts a fucking spell on your fat ass.”

“All right, fine! Jeez. No gin and chronic for the wizard, and no sad fuckin’ cartoons, I get it. Just calm him down or something, I’ll pick another movie.” Harry heaves himself up and off the couch, trundling over to his half-organized pile of mostly bootlegged videos.

Audie groans in frustration as she struggles in vain to free herself from my sad deathgrip. “Ugh... goddamn, did you fucking wrestle in college or something?! I thought spellcasters had shitty physical stats, what the fuck. Lemme go, dude, it’s a fucking movie! Littlefoot ends up fine, I _promise_.”

I sniff, looking her in the eye from an uncomfortably close distance. “Are you sure?”

She groans softly. “...Yeah, dude, I'm sure. They made like fifteen shitty sequels and he’s in all of them.”

“O-okay,” I stammer, loosening my vise-like hold on her. “ _Don’t go away_ ,” I blurt, clamping a paw on her shoulder.

She sighs. “I’m not leaving, Reese, I’m sitting right next to you. You know what, how about you give me that cup? I think you’ve had enough.” She takes the cup from me, looking around for somewhere to dispose of it. Finding nothing, and realizing that there’s not much liquid in there anyway, she chooses simply to toss it off towards a pile of pizza boxes where it splashes meekly against the accumulated refuse. "Cripes. Do you _always_ get moody when you drink gin, or is it the nip he soaked in there?"

"I don't know... I don't know, I just can't handle this shit. The world's fucked up and life is shit, the fucking cops are out to get me, the fucking mob wants me dead, and now I'm thinking about dinosaurs, and what if they could talk and feel like we do?"

She chuckles softly and shakes her head, sighing. “Well, at least this should all make for some decent material.”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t want anyone to know about this. I don’t want _anyone_ to know about this. I’m a _man_ , goddamnit.”

“You know men can cry and it’s fine, right? This isn’t the fifties, you’re allowed to have feelings.”

“No. I’m supposed to be strong, stoic, and keep a stupid stiff upper lip all the fucking time because _fuck_ everything. Who cares if swallowing your emotions gives you a stroke when you're sixty? Keep all that shit inside. That's the important part, be a fucking soulless drone and ignore the fact that Littlefoot's fucking DEAD. He's DEAD, and he's been dead FOREVER, and we're ALL going to DIE!"

She nods, pretending to understand my drunken, emotional rant. “Fuck, dude, with all those issues, you should work in a newsstand. C’mere, dumbass,” she offers, laying my head on her lap as she reaches for the cold roach nearby. “But _god_  you’re weird. And did you know you kinda have an accent when you're really fucking drunk? It's almost cute," she muses, searching the couch around her for a lighter.

Harry's looking over his shoulder at us by now, ignoring the stack of illicit video discs in favor of biting his lip and trying not to laugh. "Shit, I'd say to get a room, but I don't think you two wanna fuck on a mattress full of my farts."

Audie lights the roach, having discovered the wand of flame, and hurls the device at Harry's head. "Fuck you, dick! I thought I told you to put a goddamn movie in, now hustle, fatboy!"

 

I stir slightly, submerged up to my ears in the deep, restful sleep that so often eludes me. Audie lies alongside me and has huddled for warmth because, according to her, it’s ‘chilly as shit.’ She’s fucking overheating me is all she’s doing, and that arm of hers that stretches over my throat suddenly clamps down tight, inducing me to cough and flail like a bass on a hook.

“OH FUCK!” Harry screams from the embrace of his worn beanbag chair, a bag of potato chips exploding from his lap into the air through his startled thrashing, as the urgent wail of a foghorn pierces the late-evening calm of his shitty apartment.

“Lemme go! Lemme go!” I rasp, clawing at Audie’s chokehold with one paw as I reach for my phone with the other. An unfamiliar number, seemingly local going by the area code, stares at me from the screen. I finally free myself from her inadvertent strangulation and cough, steeling myself to answer what is ninety percent likely to be a fucking robot trying to sell me a credit card in a language I can’t identify. “Hello?”

A grumbled, accented voice answers me. “Hello. Is this... Reese?” His speech seems to stop and start slightly, as though the sounds he’s making are entirely foreign to his mouth.

“Uh, yeah, this is Reese." Who’s this?” I briefly check Audie and Harry over either of my shoulders, noting their curious but hopeful expressions. I walk to the far end of the couch from Audie for a small measure of privacy, listening carefully to my caller.

“I have job for you,” he explains, sounding like he’s picking his words individually and with a measure of uncertainty. “Fedor tell me you need work.” He keeps putting slight vowels at the end of certain words. Where the hell is this guy from, Jupiter? “This... is Matsumoto. You have been to my store.”

Oh shit, yeah, he's the sushi guy. Yeah, I remember him, he’s got the only place nearby where a guy can find a decent piece of fish that’s not awful and not hideously expensive. “YEAH, uh... yeah, I really need work. I can do just about anything, I can gut, scale, slice, whatever you need. What ki-“

He interrupts me with an approving(?) grumble, cutting my line of questioning off before it had started. “Very good. You come in Monday, four PM.”

Wait. Holy fuck, _four?_  What am I, diurnal? “Did... do you mean AM?”

“No. I mean PM.” I wait for an explanation, but none comes. The silence from his end is enough to tell me he's not saying anything more about it, both literally and... no, actually just literally.

“Oh... yeah, okay, I’ll uh, I’ll be there,” I mutter, feeling my heart sink at the thought of all the sleep I’ll miss out on. “Thank you.” I turn to face my friends after he hangs up, and Harry is the first to speak.

“What’s the word?” he asks, stuffing his mouth with a pawful of potato chips I'm pretty sure he picked up off the floor. “Was that your boss, or someone else?”

“A new job,” I groan, rubbing my forehead, “that apparently starts at fucking four.”

Harry sputters, coughing chip crumbs all over himself. “What, in the _afternoon?_ They better be fucking awesome, because that’s bullshit, you're not a _farmer._  Who is this dick?”

“It’s Matsumoto, the sushi guy in Spruce Alley. Guess he’s... I don't know, getting busy or something. Needs help.”

Audie starts laughing in her strange, half-asleep haze. “The sushi place?” She snorts, slowly infecting Harry with her mad giggling. “So you're a sorcerer  _and_ a fucking weeb?”

“Hey, we can’t all work at the _copy shop_ ,” I snark back, shutting her up instantly. She hates her job more than I hate a lot of things, and I’m _full_ of hate. Harry knows both of those things and bursts into full-on laughter as we continue to trade jabs.


	55. Knit One, Purl Two

“What. The FUCK. Is that smell,” Billie asks, shuffling out of her room with half-closed eyes and her fur smashed flat on one side of her face.

I stare at her, less than fully-awake myself, as I chew a salty mass of marginally-edible fish. “Breakfast.”

She draws a breath through her nose, gagging visibly at the smell that seeps from the small jar I’d brought with me. “Okay. You’re fucking disgusting and you’re never bringing any food into my apartment ever again.”

I snort, shoving another spoonful of salty, softened fish into my mouth. It’s not very good, even by my standards; it sat too long in its own enzymes, so it has little texture, and the flavor isn’t what I was going for. Needless to say, it could use a little onion. Soused herring takes five days _tops_. Thanks a fucking lot, Fedor.

I look back to my phone as Billie leaves, noticing a message I’d overlooked, and I decide to investigate. What the hell? Who taught my mom how to text, and furthermore, who taught her how to send a voice recording in a text? I didn't know you could _do_ that. I press play with a shrug, and slowly stop eating as the entirety of _Fooling Yourself_ plays, sung in her thickly-accented English. It’s clear to me that she meant to pump me up with this, but as adorable as the gesture is, I just feel like shit. Goddamnit, mom. I talk shit about you on stage and you do  _this?_ Where was the Styx-singing mom when I was a kit?

Audie pokes her nose out of her own bedroom and sniffs the air. “Ugh, dude. Crack a window or eat that in the bathroom.”

“Fuck off,” I groan. “Unless you’re telling me where you keep the onions, I don’t want to hear it.”

She peeks out past the doorframe, squinting at me. “My eyes are watering from here and you want to add _onion_ to that bouquet? What the fuck, man.”

“Well, you do have those bigass bug eyes, I’m surprised you don’t tear up when they’re chopping onions across town.” I duck, dodging a slipper as it sails on a trajectory over my head.

She cackles, pulling off the other for a follow-up shot. “Oh that’s _rich_ coming from you, you’ve got that creepy third eyelid to protect yourself from your your own gross-ass cooking!”

Billie calls out from her bed, “Can you call it cooking if you’re just leaving shit to rot in a bucket?”

Audie seizes another opportunity. I thought I'd get something in, since she just woke up, but it seems she's full-speed from the moment her eyes open. “Seriously dude, I’m not convinced your cooking isn’t banned by several bioweapon treaties.”

I'm not taking that crap. Let's try guilting her, she'll never expect it. “I’m feeling personally attacked here,” I snark, scooping up another spoonful of marginally-edible piscine material. “To save my feelings from unbearable damage, you have to eat some.”

Audie raises her fuzzy slipper high over her head, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. “If you come near me with that, I’m gonna slap your shit into next week!”

“Here comes the fishing boooat~,” I sing, holding the spoon in a sinister manner as I hop off my chair. “Open up the haaarboooooor!”

Audie lunges, smacking me upside the head with rubber and memory foam. “I WARNED you!” She laughs, quickly realizing the spoon has not been stopped, but has come closer and is now directly under her nose. She gags violently, staggering back as she struggles to keep her stomach from leaping out her throat and escaping to safety. “I’ll throw your ass outside in the cold if you bring that near me again!” she gasps, looking for something - anything - she can hold me off with. From a low cabinet she produces a wire whisk, brandishing it menacingly.

Luckily for her, I’ve had my fun and am already climbing back into my chair. “It’s not _cold_ outside,” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “It’s hardly even chilly! I’ve slept in Harry’s fridge several times this past summer, _nude_. You don’t even _know_ cold.” I choke down another mouthful of substandard pickled fish. “Besides, you don’t actually have to eat this. _I_ don’t even like it, I just can’t afford to let it go to waste.”

"Fuck that, throw it out, and fuck _you_ , it's _totally_ cold, the rest of us just don't take cold showers every night because we actually enjoy comfort."

I roll my eyes again. "You've got that the other way around, you know. It's not that I can take the cold _because_ I take cold showers, it's that I take cold showers because I fucking hate heat! I mean, a hot bath is nice once in a while, but if I'm just cleaning myself? Fuck it, I'm not waiting for the water to get warm." I swallow another glob of my breakfast, watching her as she collects her other slipper. "You'd like the cold too if you had a coat like this. Even fall is fucking murder for me."

She shrugs. "Well, you do got a nice coat, I'll give you that."  
  
"Thanks, I grew it myself."

 

I look through the portal, staring in silent horror as a wisp of smoke rises from the blackened hole. That was ALL of it. Well, not all... I still have a bunch in my van, but that's inaccessible; I know, I've tried. Until the insurance says so, I'm not getting a thing out of that impound lot. I reach into the dryer and pick up what may once have been a pair of cotton cargo shorts, but it crumbles into a fine, black powder as I touch it. Fuck. Fuck. "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" I cry, causing Audie to jump as she enters the on-site laundry with a basket of her own. She drops her dirties and rushes over to grab me, preventing me from worsening the situation with what's entirely justified but still legally counts as vandalism.

"DUDE! Holy shit, are you okay? What the hell happened?" she asks, pulling me away from the infernal appliance. "Hey, hey, drop the knife, all right? Was that your laundry in there?"

I take a few deep breaths, my eye twitching, and regain control of myself. "Those... those were all I have to wear until I get my stuff back... that was EVERYTHING I HAD."

She keeps a paw on my shoulder and looks at the dryer, sighing sympathetically. "Well, shit... uh, I guess you should probably check Goodwool. You know where that is, right?"

"What's Goodwool," I mumble, ready to crumble under the force of this latest blow. My van is gone, my mom made me feel like shit, and now my clothes are shot? What the fuck is next?

Audie rubs her forehead, moving her basket off to the side. "Well, there goes my night off, I guess. Let me get a sweater and I guess we'll get you taken care of," she sighs, grasping my paw and leading me off. "Hey, don't make me drag your ass, move your feet."

I stumble along behind her as she leads me to her apartment, back into the hall, and finally outside to a bus stop. Under the cold light of a halide lamp I notice her sweater: thick, plain, and rusty red with a simple diamond pattern towards the top in a darker color. I know that fucking sweater, when the hell did... "Hey, where'd you get that?"

"Hm?" She looks down at herself, realizing I mean her sweater. "Oh. Yeah, I kinda stole this from you, I guess. I meant to give it back, but it's a really good sweater."

I nod, considering this and a few other things. "Eh, keep it. I have other sweaters." I shrug, not because what I said is a lie, but because of the nature of the sweater. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I'd ever be rid of the goddamn thing.

She smiles, not a smirk like she gets when she's making fun of me, but a wide, genuine smile. "Thanks, dude! You know what, I'll pay your bill at Goodwool, how's that sound?"

"Oh. Sure, thanks," I stammer, feeling both pleasantly surprised and deeply relieved. I don't know what this store is, but even if they're cheap, I couldn't afford much to begin with. Audie's got a real job, she can probably afford an outfit or two as long as I pick from the clearance rack.

The bus arrives and ferries us to a sizable shopping center not far from Little Rodentia. In the middle stands one store, unimpressive in its size compared to its neighbors, but notable for being the only one with the lights on. Above the storefront reads GOODWOOL in friendly blue letters, and through the windows I see racks upon racks of random crap. What the hell kind of store is this, I wonder, until I see the sign soliciting for donations. Ah. This is other folks' stuff they didn't want anymore. Now, I'm no stranger to reusing things, being that I come from a place where everything - and I mean _everything_ \- is used until it's absolutely impossible to reuse, but I've seen what folks around here wear, and if this is the stuff _they_ don't want anymore, I don't have a good feeling about what lies inside. Fashion aside, I can tell you right goddamn now that I'm not wearing used underwear. I'll go commando for the rest of my life if it means I don't have to buy someone else's underwear, I don't care how many fucking times it's been washed. Is that weird? Fuck, you know what, I'm allowed my opinions and I'm drawing a line. No used underwear.

"My family used to hit these all the time," Audie muses as we step through the doors. "With six kids, you gotta do what you can, and hand-me-downs don't always work." She draws a deep breath through her nose and exhales it with a sigh. "Cheese and crackers, it's just as sad in here as I remembered... come on, let's find you some shit before we hang ourselves."

 

Walking through the racks, I find myself constantly bewildered by the kinds of things I see. Who the fuck is going to want a shirt that says 'Carpenter Family Reunion 2005' besides someone who was at the fucking reunion? Who's going to want a jacket with signs of mold on it, and who's going to want pants made of seven different fabrics, ALL of them ugly? Now I realize it may be a little unfair of me to judge this place based on just those finds. The vast majority of the clothes here are completely unremarkable, but perfectly wearable. I've accumulated several button-up shirts and some decent pants, so it's obviously not _all_ garbage. "Reese!" I hear Audie call, and I turn to look as a hat smacks me in the face.

"W-what the fuck was that?!" I snarl, readjusting the pile of clothing I've got folded over one arm. I almost dropped the load, goddamnit. I don't want to think of what's on this floor, I'd probably have to just abandon it all if that happened. "Don't throw things at me, okay?"

Audie rolls her eyes as she approaches, dipping down to scoop up the hat and plop it on my head. "Fucking _perfect_ ," she chuckles, beaming in approval as she steps back. I pull it off, looking it over. To my surprise, it's actually not a bad hat. A navy-blue mariner's cap, as opposed to whatever foam-rubber hot bug I'd have expected her to find. "Put on a sweater and smoke your douchewad pipe, and all you're missing is a boat! We could probably find you a peg leg somewhere, if we really look."

I tuck the hat under my left arm, taking care not to drop my selection of reasonably-okay clothing. "I don't... I don't need a peg leg, I've _got_ both my legs."

She shrugs with a smirk. "Yeah, well... maybe you should get one just in case. Maybe some great white walleye bites your leg off, and if you don't have a peg to wear, how are you going to Ahab it up and sail the world on a hell-bent quest for revenge if you don't have a peg?"

"Uh, first off, you're assuming the fish would survive the encounter, and second, aren't walleye a freshwater fish? Wouldn't I be sailing the Great Lakes or something instead?"

She shrugs my question off, looking at the racks herself. "All this time and that's all you've got? You're skipping over a lot of shit, dude."

I grumble, adjusting my haul. "I'm living out of a _bag_ , Audie, I can't fit a whole lot in there. Why are you off looking at hats, anyway? You could look through this stuff in half the time. I mean, with that walleye stare of yours, you can probably look at both sides of an aisle at-" I don't have time to finish before she snatches a shirt off its hanger and twists it into a whip. I leap away, running into the main aisle and ducking into a rack of large coats, listening to the sound of her footsteps growing faint along with her playful, whispered threats and curses. I sneak out, making sure it's safe, and continue looking through the few remaining aisles applicable to someone of my size.

I finish looking just as Audie finds me, shoving her phone into her pocket as she hefts a pile of clothes in her arm. "Found you some shit. Let's go see if a fitting room's open," she suggests, motioning with her head towards the far wall as she turns to lead me.

"Fitting room? I know what size I wear, even though you use stupid measurements in this country."

"Yeah, well, you've obviously never bought a lot of clothes before, because you can't trust labels for _shit_. Those could have been made by any number of factories in all kinds of countries, and they probably aren't all using the same ruler. You wanna make sure those pants don't cut off circulation to your ass or anything."

I grumble quietly and follow, looking at some of the... _bizarre_ assortment of items on the shelves as we pass. Cheese and rice, I could _live_ inside that teapot! It may not be spacious, but I could fit a bed, a few things... goddamnit I am not living inside a teapot. I'll rent an apartment or buy a car like a civilized mammal. Really, a teapot? It's ridiculous that I even had the thought.

Audie presents a fitting room to me. It's more like a stall than a room, the damn thing's so small; the door doesn't even reach the floor! That's one of the main requirements of a room, the door has to go all the way up AND down. This is a closet with half a door and a grungy mirror. "Go on in, and here, try these on," she adds, shoving the pile in her arm on top of me.

"I don't need this much shit! I need a few pairs of pants and maybe a dozen shirts, tops. I still _have_ other clothes, I just can't get to them!"

She rolls her eyes. "Look at it this way, you can try it all and be EXTRA picky! Doesn't that sound good? You're a pretty picky guy, now go have fun."

I latch the door behind me and drop the clothes in a heap on the floor, sighing as I look them over. Might as well dig in and hope for some gold in th- what the fuck?! I swat at the lower edge of the door, knocking Audie's phone from her paw and putting an instant end to her snickering.

"Hey!"

"That's what you _get_ , you little creep!"

"Oh come on, I wasn't _really_  recording! Besides, it's not like I haven't seen your dong before."

"Yeah, well, if you're paying for all this I don't want you getting kicked out... what the fuck is this?" I ask, holding up a plaid skirt. "Hey, did you want this skirt or something? Maybe you should hang onto it."

"It's a kilt. What, do you live under a rock?"

"...Okay, leaving aside the house I grew up in, I'm not a _Scot_. Put it back." I toss the kilt over the door and continue looking through the pile. What the hell, a kilt?! What else is in this sad Pandora's box of a store? After extensive trial and error I eventually split the heap into two smaller piles: the good stuff and the rejects. The latter, unsurprisingly, is the larger of the two. "Hey, should we put the rest of these back?"

"Put them back? Nah, but we could put them back on the hangers. Let's get out of here and get some dinner or something, I'm starving."

"Wait, dinner? Is it that late already?" I ask, checking my phone. Damn, I guess it is... and is she asking me to dinner? No, maybe she's just saying we should eat. I mean, if she intends to feed me, I intend to eat. I'm probably thinking too much into it.

"Yeah, come on. And I better see you wearing that hat from now on," she laughs, pointing at me. "If I'm buying it, you're wearing it, sailor boy."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I groan, looking it over once again. Along the way to the register I pause to look at a rack of suits that are much too large for me, probably more Harry's size, but hanging around assholes like him and Audie must be affecting me. I set my pile down and slip into a jacket, calling for her attention as I begin to dance awkwardly. "Hey, Audie, check this shit! _Same as it ever was... same as it ever was... same as it ever was!_ "

 

After a relatively quick trip back to her apartment building to wash my new wardrobe - which I find somewhat disconcerting, considering I've already had all of this shit against my bare fur - we catch another couple buses to a decidedly presentable part of town. These aren't fast food joints around here. These aren't even greasy spoons, for that matter! These are _restaurants_ , where you sit down like wealthy property-owners while other folks bring you shit. She can't afford this on her part-time, copy-shop slave wage. "Hey, uh... what's the deal? We're not eating here, are we? I mean, you already treated me to a new wardrobe tonight. You don't have to wine and dine me, you could honestly take me to Bug Burga and I'd probably still go down on you."

She tries to keep a straight face, and to her credit she almost succeeds, but breaks into a fit of laughter. "WOW. Is _that_ how you flirt? Points for the element of surprise, dude, but don't worry about it, it's covered."

"I just mean that you've already spent, what, thirty ducks on me? Seriously, thank you for that. I can't repay you monetarily, but what I can do is be whatever kind of chore boy you need."

"Oh, good, because it's my turn to wash the dishes this week. I'll have to take you up on that!" she laughs, leading me towards a building entitled Smoky Joe's Crab Shack. Oh, great, I've heard of this place. Seen ads everywhere saying 'I got crabs at Smoky Joe's!' as if it were funny to anyone over the age of thirteen. Still, I've always wondered if they were any good, and being somewhat of a seafood aficionado myself, I think I'm eminently qualified to judge them.

I follow her inside and wince at the volume of chatter. The biggest, loudest, and most _middle-aged_ clientele I've ever seen surrounds us, laughing and gobbling piping-hot arthropods, molluscs, and fish of every variety with gusto. She approaches the hostess and waves. "Hi. Van de Boom?" The hostess nods in reply and leads us into the dining area, and I have to bite my lip as I always do when I hear Audie's last name. _Van de Boom_. It just sounds silly to me. I know what it means, it's 'from the tree.' Makes sense, I mean, she's a beech marten, they used to be pretty arboreal... though that's longer ago, I think, than anyone had a real last name, and certainly before the Dutch language fucking existed. Hang on a second... I'm missing something.

I tap her shoulder to get her attention over the noise. "Hey. Did you make a _reservation?_ " I ask, partly amused in that grade-school, someone's-got-a-crush way... I blame Harry for putting such a concept into my head. Also, if it's ME she's got a crush on, assuming that's a thing, why the fuck would I want to make _fun_ of her for it? I'm not convinced _I_ don't have a crush, but to be honest any feelings either of us have are probably settled or well beyond a mere fucking crush. For starters, we're adults. Adults don't get _crushes_ , they get obsessions or feelings or depression. Also, among other things, we've fucked. Crushes don't involve _fucking_. I'm getting too deep into my own head now, and I'm starting to trip on things in my path that I should have noticed. Goddamnit. I don't want to think about real life shit, I need a couple drinks to make the uncomfortable thoughts go away!

Something catches my eye, thank goodness, distracting me from my introspective- OH FUCK. I grab Audie by her shoulder and pull her behind a table, staring into her eyes with the intensity I only ever seem to summon when one of my friends has pulled a fast one on me. "What the _fuck_ ," I whisper, "are you pulling here, goddamnit? Are those your parents?!"

She shrugs, smirking guiltily. "Yeah, you know, they called me earlier and offered to take us to dinner. Why the hell not take them up on it?"

I remove my glasses and rub my face, putting them back on to glare at her at a medium level. "And you didn't think telling me would be a good idea?"

"Pfff! If I told you they wanted to invite us on a double date, you'd have said no. I know _that_."

"You're damn-" I stop myself to think. "If you'd said 'double date,' yeah, definitely! We haven't even been on a _single_ date, what makes you think..." I sigh, thinking back to a previous discussion. "All right, yeah, you said I owed you a date, and shit hasn't been working out for me, so I haven't been able to take you out and officially be your ex-boyfriend, but that... ugh," I pause, massaging my temples. "You're _enjoying_ this, aren't you."

She waits quietly for a moment, but finally nods. "Yeah, I kinda wanted to see how you'd react, you're pretty funny when you're raging. Now do you want to get a free meal out of this, or are you gonna be a baby bitch about it?"

I growl softly, taking a deep breath in an effort to calm myself. "I can think of at least one girl who'd _really_ disagree with you on that."

"Yeah, well, whoever _she_ is, her parents aren't footing the bill. Get your tail in a chair, all right?"

 

I shift nervously in my seat, trying to look at anything and everything other than Audie's parents across the table. She and her mother are chatting idly about something or another - if you can call it chatter at their level of volume - and her father directly opposite me is shaking his big, jowly head at something disagreeable on his phone. "Can you believe this crap?" he asks me, as though I know what he's talking about.

"Believe what?" I look to him, taking my eyes off the sprinklers over us, and wonder if I can escape this uncomfortable situation at all. I might be able to chew my leg off as a distraction, but knowing this city and its ridiculous fucking laws, I'd probably be fined for leaving loose body parts in a restaurant and causing a biohazard.

"Oh, this city's gone to hell in a haybasket," he gripes, running a finger up his screen to scroll. "After all that Bellwether crap, suddenly everyone's upset because they think there's somebody going around killing birds. You know what? We've got plenty of birds. I don't give a damn about some nutcase going after pigeons, we've got bigger problems, goddamnit, like finding all that little Bellwether asshole's friends on the outside, you know what I mean?"

I nod. "Oh... yeah, uh, that was... I've gone through so much since then, I almost forgot about some of that. I actually got tricked into..." wait, why would I tell anyone about that fucking commercial? "I did mushrooms in a park right before that and I killed a duck, so I really thought I was going savage for a while." **MOTHERFUCK.** Why did I go with THAT instead?!

He slaps the table hard enough to shake the few things atop it, and laughs heartily. "God _damn_ that's funny! I can see why yer a comedian, that's what you do, right?" he asks, looking from me to Audie.

Audie goes into some kind of half-panic, like she's trying to sell her parents on me. "Oh, no, he's not just a comic, he's a writer, an aspiring actor, and a teacher, too. He's a freaking renaissance man, and he's probably got the robes to prove it!"

I unwrap my fork from its paper napkin shroud and grip it, jabbing Audie on the hip where her parents can't see it. " _What are you doing?_ " I hiss, waiting until her parents are distracted by their menus.

" _What the fuck are YOU doing?!_ " she responds, rubbing her fork-bruise. "Okay... look. Yeah, they think we're dating. I kinda had to fib about that to keep my mom from going COMPLETELY mental last time they met you, but what damage has it done to you? None. Hell, they're _feeding_ you. So how about you fucking suck it up for an hour or two and later you can bitch me out all you want?"

The waiter appears and takes our drink orders, leaving as quickly as they came, and Audie's mother rises from her seat. "I'm just gonna go wash my paws. Audie, you wanna come along?" I don't know what kind of voodoo spell she cast with that look, but Audie fucking gets up and leaves me here alone. Fuck... now her big, weird-looking dad is staring at me.

"So how long've you two been datin'?" he asks, as relaxed as can be. Fuck.

I try to come up with something, but my improv skills leave something to be desired. "We..." I cut myself off, scratching my cheek nervously. "We're actually not," I admit, offering a half-assed shrug. "I mean, we're _close_ , but I don't think that really counts, because we've never really agreed to be official or... I actually asked her to be my _ex_ -girlfriend. Don't try to figure that out, I was high out of my mind when I said it, but she... she seemed to think my logic was reasonable."

He stares back at me for a long moment before chuckling. "Kid, that's pretty goddamn good. I don't mean it's just funny, I mean you seem like an okay guy. You like to fish, so for starters, that's good in my book. We'd have heard from her if you tried to hurt her feelings or anything, so that already puts you above the jackhole she used to date."

"That's not... I actually just stabbed her with a fork under the table a minute ago, but she had that coming. She didn't tell me this was a couple's date, she just said 'let's go eat,' and I don't really like _surprises_."

"Are you serious?!" he laughs, slapping the table again. "Cheese and crackers, that's funny!"

I shrug. "Well, I'm glad you think so, Mr. Van de-"

"Just Pete," he interrupts, extending his paw across the table for me to shake. "They're probably about done with their girl-talk by now, we should probably figure out what we want or they might get suspicious about our little chat." He raises his menu and winks, looking over the offerings.

"Uh, all right, Pete," I stammer, looking at my own menu. Don't worry about a thing, I tell myself; just pick something that looks good, and deal with the rest of the morning later. Yeah. That'll be fine. It'd be a lot finer if I could fucking smoke in here, because holy _shit_ do I need something to take the edge off... I'd peek at the liquor offerings, but somehow I think it'd look bad if I got drunk in front of my pretend-girlfriend's parents. Oh shit, smoked oysters? It's been too fucking long since I had oysters.

 

Audie and I shuffle down the sidewalk towards the nearest bus stop quietly, our bellies full of seafood, when she breaks the silence. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

I take a deep breath as we continue on our path. "You know, we're gonna need to talk about this," I grumble, reaching into my bag for my fucking hipster asshole pipe. Goddamn do I miss the convenience of cigarettes, but you have to pay so much more for that ease of use.

"Oh, jeez... whatever this is, are you gonna be on it all morning? Why can't you just ignore the voices in your head, or whatever it is that makes you worry so much about this shit?"

I begin packing the bowl and shrug in response. "I might be, I don't know. And no I _can't_ ignore those 'voices,' because that's how brains work, Audie! Thoughts come up in them all the time and you have to do things because your brain controls your fucking mind." I find a box of matches and strike one a few times, swearing as is merely sparks, before finally catching.

Audie grimaces. "I understand smoking, but that thing just makes your breath foul," she gripes, shaking her head. "Makes you taste like a burnt butthole."

I puff thoughtfully for a moment. "Only reason you'd worry about that is if you wanted to get in my mouth today. But you had gumbo, so if that happens, I'm gonna need to smoke just to numb my tongue up. See? Thoughts come up all the time, just like I said."

"Shut up, asshole. Like you weren't expecting something when you ordered fucking oysters?"

"I'll have you know I _like_ oysters, and their purported properties as an aphrodisiac are bullshit."

"Uh huh. So if I reach down your pants right now I'd find a limp noodle, is that what you're saying?"

"If you reached down my pants on a public sidewalk I think you'd find... both us in the back of a cop car."

She laughs, shaking her head. "Yeah, that's more a subway activity, I guess. So what do we need to talk about, since it's so important all of a sudden?"

"Well... we've been on kind of a date now. Unintentionally, but it was conceived as and to any outside observer would have been perceived as a date. We're closer than just friends, even friends who fuck."

"Uh huh... and what leads you to that conclusion?"

"Well, the other day you woke me up by punching me and I still hang out with you, so I think that says something."

"I did _what?_ Bullshit, I'd remember something like that! You're making this shit up, dude, you can't fool me!"

"Like _fuck_ I'm making this up! You punched me in the head because you thought I ate your donuts that you bought in a fucking  _dream_. The mere fact that I let you go back to your bed unscathed says something, I think! Doesn't it?"

"I _know_ you're fucking with me," she laughs. "You don't even eat donuts, I know that. You eat fish and clams, and you bitch about bread like it's against your religion or something!"

"Yeah, well... more of a cultural thing than religious, but I _do_ bitch about bread a lot because it's in fucking everything. You can't fucking escape it, and it upsets my stomach! You'd bitch too if you were in my situation, don't even pretend like you wouldn't."

"So besides your weird dietary customs, what are you trying to get at, here? Are you saying you _want_ me to be your girlfriend, or something?"

I look up at the traffic lights for a moment, silhouetted against the rapidly-lightening sky. "We could _try_ it, you know. Shit, it's kind of just semantics at this point, isn't it? I've met your parents, we've fucked a few times, we share personal shit in private. I even gave you that sweater, apparently."

"What... this sweater? Is that another one of your weird customs, where you give someone a sweater and they become your girlfriend?"

"It's not just  _any_ sweater."

"What's so special about this one, then? Is this your secret girlfriend sweater?"

I shrug. "Kinda. I mean, what do you think we have to make sweaters out of up there? Wool? You've been inside me all night and you didn't even know it."

The look on her face and her piercing scream in the chill, morning air are an experience I will cherish forever.


	56. Stick to What Works

I set my drink down. Just water tonight, I've got work in the - _ugh_ \- morning. I take a deep breath, knowing full well I can't keep quiet for too long or I'll lose them. "I'm gonna level with you folks, I don't like it here. Of course, you probably picked that up from the rest of my fucking act, but it bears repeating. I'm not from here, I don't understand it here, and I don't like it here, but despite all that, this is where I _have to be_. I could go on and on about where I'm from and where I've been, but it's really not important, except that I was an outsider there, too, even though I was fucking BORN THERE." This show isn't going well. As funny as Audie thinks I am when I'm yelling, these assholes are either too pretentious or too sober. That, or I'm just not that fucking funny.

"So where... pardon me for a moment, I'm just gonna take my shirt off," I announce, unbuttoning my shirt and setting it on the stool beside me. "One thing I'll tell you about where I'm from is that it's _really_ fucking cold, okay, so with my winter coat coming in, room temperature is brutal." A laugh. Somehow. "Anyway, where was I? Oh right. I left my home because it was full of xenophobic fuckwits who never accepted me and never liked me. Fine, I know when I'm not wanted. Fuck them anyway, the only way they could be more inbred is if they were baked into loaves." There's a sensible chuckle. "So I went to my dad's home country. I could go to college there, learn how to write and how to act, just like I'd always wanted. Of course, I didn't grow up in the real world so I didn't know those degrees get you absolutely no jobs once you've completed them." Explaining that art degrees are worthless always gets a little laugh action. Cheap laughs, but laughs nonetheless.

I have to chuckle myself as I consider the irony of my second homeland. "But when I got there, I didn't see anything different. I wasn't the focus of everyone's scorn, though; with my name and my parentage, I was _one of them._ Finally there was a place where I could belong, but do you know what I found? I found that everyone there was the exact same kind of xenophobic trash I wanted to get away from, except now I was on the _giving_  side of the hatred. So I said fuck it, and I came here, because this is where everything happens. Don't kid yourself, there are things that happen all over the world, but the shit that dictates all of _that_ shit happens here. Besides, if you're a dickhead with a theater degree, you have to move to Zootopia to make something of yourself. That thing is usually a waiter, but one in a million shitheads achieves some modest success before collapsing under the weight of drug addiction and dying naked behind a dumpster."

I sigh, checking the discreet clock on the back wall. "I guess what I'm getting at is that, despite all my hatred for this city and everything it stands for, I chose to come here, I choose to _stay_ here, and there's nowhere better for me to be. I have Stockholm syndrome for this fucking city, which is a weird thing to say because I've _been_ to Stockholm, and I _fucking hate_ the Swedes." It was a slow build to this moderate amount of laughter, and I either lost some of them on the way here or they simply don't grasp the irony in this bit. Either way that's my time, and I introduce Billie, making my way offstage to collect my meager pay.

"Well _that_ was interesting," Audie remarks, resting her head on a paw as the other toys with her drink. "Trying to make Billie seem funnier by comparison?"

I huff as I climb into my chair, downing the rest of my plain, room-temperature water. "Isn't that what I do for all of you? I go up, I'm depressing, the audience drinks so they don't get sad, and whoever I open for seems ten times funnier. I figure Billie needs that the most, half her jokes are only funny because she says 'cunt' so much. And you said her mom teaches _women's studies?_ "

Audie gives me a half-shrug. "Well, the way she put it when I asked her, her mom uses that word a LOT. Apparently where _she's_ from it's, like, punctuation. Then she went into this LONG thing about how she's necessary to feminism because she calls them out on the inconvenient shit, she sees through the bullshit since she's been immersed in it her whole life, and a whole bunch of other shit I really didn't listen to. She's actually _really_ well-read on it, she's read all the Gloria Steinmard books and a bunch of other shit I've never heard of."

"And she goes on stage to yell _cunt_ at folks. For _money_."

"Wouldn't you? And yeah, she does get a LOT of hate, but she also gets a lot of support too, somehow. I'm sure any of us would do the same if we were her."

"That's not saying much. Until this morning I'm not earning a regular paycheck, so to be honest I'd go up on stage naked and sing _show tunes_ if anyone would hire me," I snark, slipping my shirt back on, but leaving the front open.

"You know, you can probably find a job like that in this town."

"Yeah. I can. Except they won't hire anyone off the street, and the shit you have to do to work your way up to that is degrading _and_ doesn't pay well."

 

I jerk awake to the sound of a foghorn and jab blindly at my phone until it stops. Fuck. FUCK. I need more sleep than this, but I need money more than I need sleep. I'm sure that'll come back to haunt me in a few years, or hell, maybe even months. Doesn't some culture have a word for 'death by working?' Something like that, I can't remember. I don't need to remember, though. I just need to make my bus and get to Matsumoto's.

The buses aren't very full between three and four PM. Most of the other passengers are schoolkids on their way home, many of them seemingly tired. I think I pity them; they're largely unaware of the absolute bullshit that awaits them in as little as several months' time. So the tired ones don't bother me. The live ones, though, they earn my full and complete contempt. Loud, obnoxious, with a lexicon that can only be described as idiotic... I can only hope they stick to the rear of the bus. Please, whatever gods may exist, make yourselves useful and keep them the fuck back there!

Thankfully either coincidence or divinity is on my side this afternoon and I make my destination in decent time. I shuffle down the alley towards the modest storefront and pause only briefly to stare curiously at the small, red bowl by the door. I poke the little pile of white granules, taking a pinch of it to examine when I'm interrupted by a SNAP and a sudden, stinging pain on the back of my head. "FUCK!" I cry, as would anyone, thinking perhaps I've broken something when I leaned down. I jerk upright, rubbing the back of my head, and notice a stoic raccoon-dog staring at me from the entrance.

"You are on time," he grumbles, standing almost uncomfortably still. "Good. But if you touch _morijio_ again, you get two," he cautions, wagging a chopstick at me.

"Was that... was that _you?_ Holy shit, I thought I'd broken something, don't do that. I have enough pain, all right?"

He grumbles softly and kneels down to fix whatever weird mojo I screwed up when I touched his little pile of... looking at the grains stuck to my paw, I'd guess salt. "Come in," he instructs, and I follow him in. The door is wedged open and a short curtain hangs from the frame, well over either of our heads, blocking only a portion of the light from outside. Regardless, I need a moment to let my eyes adjust to the relative dimness of the interior.

"Okay, so what's the job here? Cutting, gutting, cleaning, I know my way around a fish, but I figure you already knew that."

He holds a paw to my chest and stops me from following him past the counter. "Wait." He looks me over carefully, as if sizing me up, and nods. He disappears behind the counter and returns shortly, offering me a neatly-folded white... robe?

"Huh..." I take the robe and look it over, confused. I was unaware that processing fish required a uniform, but I guess if he's paying me, I'll play along. He watches as I put on the thin jacket, tying the belt, and when I'm finished he hands me a plain white cap. "Uh, okay. I kind of figured I'd be back in the kitchen where nobody could see me, do I really need to wear the costume? Because my winter coat's coming in, and-" I snap my mouth shut as he reaches for his chopstick. "All right, jeez, I'll put it on. There. See? I look every part the chef now, don't I? So what's the first-" I stop again, interrupted by him offering me a dustmop.

No. If I wanted to do drudgework, I'd have a new job every week. I say every week because that's the longest I've ever lasted at any minimum-wage slave shack, and there are _thousands_ of them in this city, each one looking to hire the next idiot who walks through the door with an empty pocket and some spare time. "Okay, I think we need to talk about what it is I'm doing here, because I figured I'd be doing what I'm _good_ at."

He sighs - or growls, or something - and leans the dustmop on my shoulder. "You are here to _work_. You are new, so you clean. This is the way."

Goddamnit, does this guy ever offer anything more than the most basic information? "No, I mean, I can figure that out from how you just gave me a mop, but what do I _do?_ What's my job, what are the hours, what do you expect? Because I'm already having doubts here, and I came into this with certain expectations based on my area of expertise! What did Fedor tell you I did over there? Because it wasn't cleaning the _floor_. I don't actually think _he_ cleaned the floor, for that matter, now that I think about-"

"You clean. You clean tables, counter, floor, bathrooms." He displays a rare hint of emotion with this statement, sounding slightly frustrated. I don't know how good his English is, but I get the distinct impression it's not the language barrier that's causing his dissatisfaction.

"So... what, I'm just cleaning things?" I look around at the shop interior. I've been here several times, but I've never bothered to look at it as if I had to clean it. Matsumoto's not a large mammal, and he scaled the place accordingly, thank goodness; the tables and counter aren't very high.

"Until you prove yourself, yes. I have no apprentice, so you must do. Customers increase in number, I do not have time to clean as much as is needed." From the slight pauses in his speech, I have the feeling that his grasp of English may, in fact, be a source of some of his frustration. "Traditionally, you would clean tables, floors, and bathroom for a full year before you enter the kitchen."

A YEAR? What the FUCK is this guy smoking, and who the hell sold it to him?! "Wait a minute, wait. Sorry to interrupt, but what I'm hearing from you is that you think I signed up to be your _apprentice_. Look, I love fish, but-"

"If you do not want the job, you can go." The simple firmness with which he makes his statement could be understood even if he'd said it in fucking Japanese.

"No, no, it's... I can live with it. I've dealt with worse." Goddamnit. I just folded like a cheap table at a house party, and it feels _dirty_. Am I really THAT desperate?

He waits a few moments before nodding. "Traditionally, you would clean for a year before I let you into the kitchen. But I need help washing for evening rush. You clean tables and floors, you wash dishes."

I breathe a long, tired sigh as I rub the back of my head, still sore from earlier. "All right... well, do I have to take orders and run food, or-"

He interrupts me again. "No. You do not yet touch the food," he explains, or rather _doesn't_ explain, choosing merely to state the basic facts with no background information. "You only clean. You work from four PM to twelve AM, busiest time."

Fuck. Well, that leaves plenty of time for me to tell shitty jokes to unappreciative audiences in the early morning, so that's kind of convenient, I guess. "Okay. Not to sound like an asshole, but what's the pay?"

"You earn thirteen dollars."

I open my mouth to say something, but I quickly realize one of us is mistaken, and I'm not sure which. "Wait, wait, sorry. Thirteen dollars? The next words I hear are going to be very important, because they're going to determine whether I shut up and do my job or you never see me again. Is that per hour, or per night?" If he says per night, I may just kick him in the nuts and run. I can make more than that telling folks shitty rhymes in a subway station.

He gives me a look as though I just fell out of a spaceship and asked him if he has tits on the back of his head. "I pay you thirteen dollars per hour. To not pay one's apprentice well would be an insult."

I blink, staring at him in shocked silence for far too long. "Well FUCK ME, you've got yourself a goddamn apprentice." I grip the handle of the dustmop and get ready to make a sweep of the dining area when he interrupts me once again.

"Wait. You have not heard most important part." He waits until I'm looking at him again before finally explaining the reason behind something. "You clean, but you also _watch_. You learn. You watch everything. How to greet the customer. How to treat the customer. First these, then you learn more. When you can be trusted, you will begin to learn the food. You will not touch the food for some time."

I nod, wondering again what the fuck I've stumbled into. "Oh, okay. What's the next step, if I might ask?"

"When you can be trusted, you will learn to make the rice."

Rice. Really? "Huh. You know, I would have thought I'd be cleaning fish. I mean, I've worked with fish for years. I kinda thought that's what I'd be doing here, but I think I already mentioned that."

"NO. When you can make the rice perfectly, THEN you will clean the fish. But not before!" Cheese and rice, he's super fucking serious about that for some reason. Is this some kind of ancient, master-student bullshit he expects me to understand from the beginning?

"All right, jeez! But for now I clean, right? How about I go do that, and when someone shows up I'll start watching." With an approving nod from my new... master, I guess, I set about sweeping the floor. "Hey, just to be sure, I _don't_ take folks' orders?"

"Customers should not speak to you. You are the apprentice."

I shrug and continue my cleaning, amazed at how sensible another culture can be. Goddamn, I think this apprenticeship shit might work out, I get paid that well and I don't have to talk to _anyone?_ Fuck, I can do that. I can do the _shit_ out of that.

 

The evening crowd arrives suddenly and in a surprisingly orderly fashion, and as my cleaning duties are complete at the moment, Matsumoto - I mean Matsumoto- _san_ \- instructs that I stand quietly out of the way and observe. Better that than another welt on the back of my head, how the FUCK does a chopstick hurt so bad? And how the hell does he imagine I should know this shit? Goddamnit. All I know is that if he makes me bow, we're gonna have a problem. Loath as I am to admit it, I'm still an _eyjarmaðr_ , and we don't fucking bow. KINGS make you bow to them, and I'm honor-bound to kill any king I should happen upon.

All right, side note: don't you fucking laugh at me. You've got stupid cultural shit too, why the fuck would I need a blessing if I sneeze? You're not a priest, save your breath. This country is fucked up. You don't hit your kids when they actually deserve it, you pay your wait staff two dollars an hour, and you wear your fucking pajamas in public! If _I_ wore my pajamas in public there's a pretty good chance I'd be arrested for going nude, which leads me to another thing this country is fucked up on: _nipples_. They put tits on TV commercials in Europe, but over here you just put sugar in everything, you feed your kids lies that make them depressed, and then you prescribe them drugs when they grow up fat and unhappy. Goddamnit. All right, I'm sorry about the rant, I just needed to get that out of my system.

Back outside of my head, the majority of the evening crowd seems to be expatriates. I'm not surprised; even before I worked here I've had conversations with Matsumoto, and his intent is to run this place as if it were actually in Japan and not just some city that desperately wants to be every other city in the world. "Two men just left," I hear Matsumoto growl, as his paw reaches for the Chopstick of Discipline. Oh fuck, he _does_ expect me to bow, doesn't he? "You did not bow to our customers."

"Hang on, you didn't tell me to," I explain, wondering if I can get out of such a demeaning act and keep my job. "You told me to watch _you_ , and that's what I've been doing. I don't really know a lot about your culture, I mean, I'm pretty sure you've figured that out."

He re-sheathes his plain, wooden chopstick and grumbles. "When customers enter or leave, you _bow_."

"Okay, well, uh, where I'm from, we don't bow. Ever."

" _Eh?_ " He stops mid-slice on a piece of red snapper, giving me a confused, almost offended look. "I am not new here. Do you think I am a fool?"

"Well I'm not from _here,"_ I add, trying to remain calm as my hackles inexplicably begin to rise. "I'm not trying to say-"

A third voice interrupts me from high above. "You could nod," it speaks, startling me. "Just nod, bend your waist a little bit."

I clench my teeth, fighting to keep from screaming at whatever tall fucker just decided to creep up on me. Looking up slowly, I recognize the tall canid in a postal uniform as Colin, my colleague in the futile pursuit of artistic success. "Dude, don't LOOM on me like that! Cheese and rice, you're gonna give me a heart attack!"

Matsumoto beams, nodding a few times as he greets the lone maned wolf. "Ah, _irasshai!_ Good to see you, I was just preparing some snapper. Please sit, pay no attention to the _apprentice_ ," he gushes, putting a noticeable amount of stank on that last word. Clearly my first day isn't going to his liking.

" _Konbanwa Matsumoto-san_ , snapper sounds good right about now," Colin answers, in what I'm sure is probably completely fucking normal for him, but feels partly like some kind of flex to make me look bad. I don't need that, I can make myself look bad enough without the help. "Reese works for you now?"

Matsumoto forces a smile. "Yes. I have never had a western worker before, it will take, eh, some adjustment," he explains, nodding oddly. Yeah, if by 'adjustment' he means 'snapping Reese in the back of the head with a chopstick every half-hour.' He busies himself with the fish before him, seemingly very pleased with Colin's arrival. "Your usual?" he asks, working his knife with a precision I find hypnotic.

" _Omakase_ ," the mailmammal replies, sitting down at the counter as close to me as he can. He looks to me curiously and asks, "Apprentice, huh? How'd you get this gig?"

"Uh, I kind of didn't. My last boss kinda pawned me off on Matsumoto - uh, _san_ \- after he closed his shop, and it's not really what I had in mind but the pay is good. He keeps hitting me with a chopstick but I don't think I'm in danger from the _mob_ out here, so I can probably live with that."

Colin looks to Matsumoto for a moment. "Hey, do you mind if the two of us talk a bit?" Matsumoto looks at me like he'd prefer I talk to no one, but offers Colin a curt nod of approval. "Thanks." He turns back to me. "Good customer benefits, I guess. So did you hear about the theater?"

I jerk slightly. "Wait, what? What _about_ the theater?" If he tells me the theater burned down, I'm fucking done. I am finding an axe and I am razing this city. There won't be a church or a business left un-pillaged, I fucking swear. "We're opening next week, _finally_ , and if the next words out of your mouth say anything to the contrary-"

"It burned down," he says, smirking at the look on my face. "Not really, but there _was_ a small electrical fire. Ursula was there doing some painting, and she caught it before any serious damage happened, but it needs to be completely rewired." He breathes a long sigh and breaks eye contact. "We're hoping insurance will cover it, but it's a real downer."

"A downer? A _parking ticket_ is a downer, man, this is a fucking _travesty_." A quick, pointed glare from the proprietor of the establishment is enough to scare me into cleaning up my language. As if anyone could hear me over a half-drunk businessman singing karaoke to 'In My Own Way' right now! As far as I've heard, there are only three of us speaking English in here right now, and I'm the only one doing it full-time. "Seriously, you're kidding, right?"

Colin groans slightly, shifting on his low stool as he shrugs. "I wish I was, man, but it's all on hold until further notice."

I bury my face in my paws, and despite all the negative emotion swirling through my psyche, I begin to laugh.

Colin leans away slightly, watching me cautiously. "You, uh... you okay over there?"

I laugh loudly, pulling my paws from my face. "No! But I think I've figured it out, man. _I'm_ the problem. It's _me!_ " I clutch my sides as I try to gain control of my errant diaphragm. "Don't you see it? Here, wait, I'll explain it. Okay, so a while back I do the best show I've ever done - I'm not kidding, this was beyond _anything_ I could have hoped for - and right after that, I crash my van into some giant f- uh, a giant armchair. I establish what I think is a real relationship with a girl I really like, and then a dryer screws up and burns all the clothes I have. And then now, _tonight_ , I get a real job that pays, and then the _theater burns down!_ Okay, a couple of those happened the other way around, but that just means they're preemptive, I think. Do you get it? Whenever something good happens to me, something WAY WORSE happens."

He furrows his brow. "I think you're reaching, honestly. There's the whole thing where correlation doesn't always equal causation, especially when it's just random chance, and then there's that thing about life being what you make of it."

"I'm serious, if you give me a little time I'll come up with more examples, but there's ABSOLUTELY a trend here." The laughter has subsided. Now I'm just sad.

He shakes his head and looks to the plate Matsumoto sets before him. "You need to relax, dude. The world's not conspiring against you. _Itadakimasu_."

 

The midnight hour approaches, and as the crowd of salarymen slowly recedes like the tide, they’re replaced by a smaller, much quieter crowd of trendy predators on their lunch break. Matsumoto, to his disappointment, has realized that the extent of my knowledge is limited to the cleaning, processing, and eating of fish. He has seen fit to summon me to the counter once the washing was finally done to impart unto me some basic information I may need to know.

“Many in the West misunderstand that sushi is not the meal, and sushi is not the fish. Sushi is the rice, and every chef - every _itamae_ \- has their own recipe.” I kind of figured it wasn’t the fish. Most of the evening rush were herbivores, of course, and they ate probably a farm’s worth of pungent, pickled vegetables sliced thin, rolled, and delivered as bite-sized morsels. “Pickled vegetables are _tsukemono_. You know _gari_ , pickled ginger. It cleans the tongue.”

I _do_ know gari. It’s a little sweet for my taste, but it's not bad, and it certainly does cleanse the palate. I’m not big on things that grow in dirt - I like onions, but that’s usually as far as I’ll go with food that doesn’t have a brain - but I grew up on pickled fish, so pickled vegetables are more acceptable to my discerning palate. “Yeah. I remember the first time I came here, you looked like you were about to stab me until I tried that between bites.”

He nods. “Yes. An _itamae_ takes pride in his art, and wants it to be enjoyed fully.” He points to a series of sliced pickled vegetables, naming them in turn. “This is _daikon_ , radish. _Ninjin_ , carrot; _kabu_ , turnip; _kyuri_ , cucumber. The seaweed is _nori_.” I try to hide a frown as he points to the glossy, green sheets of toasted sea-scum, and he notices this with a smirk. “You do not like this?”  
  
“No,” I reply. “Where I grew up we eat mostly fish, a little onion, and a few other things, but we use kelp as a fuel source more than we eat it. Or we _would_ if it was up to me. I can’t stand it, even with the strongest sour herring to cover the taste, but my dad LOVES it. He’s from Whales, though, so you shouldn't listen to him or anyone like him. They eat it by _itself,_  ever hear of laverbread? Imagine someone took everything bad in the ocean, boiled it until it turned into slime, and then convinced an entire country it tasted good. It _doesn’t_.”

He laughs. “ _Nori_ is crisp and seasoned, but in Japan, we do eat lots of it. I do not think you would be happy there.”

“Hey, as long as I can get fish, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I shrug. He seems a lot more amicable when the rush isn't in full swing. Hell, this might even work out, since I don't have to deal with customers. I just clean up, I get to eat a little fish, and in exchange I get snapped with a chopstick and I get to not die curled up in an alley somewhere. Maybe it's not the _best_ job I've had, but it's certainly nowhere near the worst. Shit, I should fill that prescription as soon as he pays me... that doctor's been calling me to nag about it lately, as if I needed that extra stress. I hate this country and its profit-driven medical industry. Anywhere else they'd just  _give_ me the shit so I wouldn't die, but not here.

A distinctive laugh - a peculiar combination of a hearty guffaw, a shrill chuckle, punctuated at the end by a light snort - catches our attention from the entry. “Oh my god, he’s making him wear the hat!” Audie titters, with Norm’s disarming giggle backing her up. "Ah shit... he's probably gonna spit in our food, look at his face."

Look at my face? My face feels warmer than usual thanks to mild embarrassment, but... oh, okay, I can tell I'm frowning now. There's nothing out of the ordinary about that though.

" _Irasshaimase!_ " Matsumoto greets, smiling, as he secretly cracks his knuckles and loosens his wrists where they can't see it. If I had to guess why, it's probably because Norm can eat an entire shop's worth of sushi in one sitting, so his paws are in for a workout. He checks the clock on the wall and looks over his shoulder to me. "Your shift is done. You will return at four this afternoon."

I'm not sure if that's a casual statement or a stern command, but I've had jobs where I'd rather play in traffic than return to, so I simply nod. "Okay. Uh, do I leave the suit here?" He nods, setting up his work station for what's probably the last big order of the night, and I hang my shirt and hat on a lone hook behind the counter. "All right. I guess I'll see you then, Matsumoto. Uh... _san_." Trying to be culturally sensitive - by which I mean 'not snapped in the head with utensils' - I give him a sort of long-nod, nothing approaching kneeling before a king, and he dips his head to let me out of it. Thanks, Colin.

"Wow. So is Sonny Shiba here there teaching you the _way of the blade_ , yet?" Audie teases, patting the stool next to her as she sits.

I follow Audie to the table she's chosen, sitting down beside her. Oh shit, that feels good... I'd forgotten I've been on my feet for eight hours, carrying dishes half my size for most of it. I'm sure I'll be sore later. "No, I don't touch food for a couple years or something."

"Wait, seriously? What the fuck's he have you doing?" she asks, her coarse language unnoticed by the proprietor as Norm lists his order at the counter. "Does he have you, like, greeting folks at the door? Because if he does, then I wanna talk to the management, because I didn't see your red ass bowing to us when we came in."

"No. I actually don't even have to _talk_ , I just clean up. I mean, I didn't know I was signing up for an _apprenticeship_ , but I'll be able to get that medicine I need, and I might be able to afford the rent on a wooden crate somewhere, so-"

"'Sweet?' Dude, I've listened to you rant about working in restaurants, how desperate are you that you're actually enjoying this? Wait. Are you the _real_ Reese?" she asks, poking me in the chest. "Or are you some body-snatcher clone made of tofu?"

"Well with how he's paying me, I can't complain! Not even that he hit me with a chopstick half a dozen times tonight. Wouldn't _you_ sweep floors and wash dishes for thirteen an hour?"

She stops mid-giggle and her face goes entirely flat. "You're making _what?_ HEY! SUSHI MAN, ARE YOU STILL HIRING?" she calls, trying to look past Norm at the hardworking canid behind the counter.

"DON'T LISTEN TO HER, SHE'S A BAD WORKER!" I laugh, ducking as she swats at me. We continue to trade halfhearted blows, disrespecting the establishment with a full-on slap fight as Norm continues to rattle off his order.


	57. Stimulants

The scene begins with a still image of a castle in ruins atop a hill. It’s inaccurate to the time period, but it’s in the public domain, so it’s all we’ve got. Ancient-looking text fades in and spells out _Lindisfarne Priory. June 8, 793_. The sound of hurried footsteps, panting breath, and a door opening and closing breaks the silence.

“Heathens! Heathen raiders from the sea!” someone gasps as the scene changes abruptly to an indoor shot. A group of monks - played by amateur comedians in rubber sheep masks and brown bathrobes - sit around a simple table, the stone wall behind them green-screened in. “They just- they just landed,” pants the young monk, whose shrill voice and immensely puffy tail indicate to be Audie. Would you believe that sheep masks don’t come in a big range of sizes? They make three, and even the smallest is too big for her head.

Harry, scratching his chin in a thinly-veiled attempt to keep his own oversized mask from drooping, looks around the table. “Thank you, brother Bogus. My brothers, it would seem the Lord calls us to him on this day. Be not afraid, for to his woolly presence we are summoned, and though our deaths shall surely be horrific, they shall last but the blink of an eye against the eternity of our salvation.”

The other monks look at each other, clearly not at ease with their impending doom. The biggest monk - obviously Norm - addresses his abbot nervously. “But abbot, wouldn’t it be better to run away and continue to serve Him? I ain’t sayin’ you _wrong_ , man, I’m just _sayin’_.”

The abbot raises his paws serenely. “Now, now, brother Chungus, you know we cannot outrun these pagans. Just look at us; we’re monks, not warriors.” Each monk looks down at their gut, bolstered in a few cases by an appropriately-sized pillow. “No, I fear our day has arrived, and as monks, we must never close our doors to travelers from far-off lands.”

The assembled monks look to their abbot and then between each other, shrugging slightly. “Uh, but abbot, these guys aren’t travelers so much as they are murderers. Surely the Lord says we can close our doors _just_ this once?” asks the blonde-tailed sheep whose mask almost fits.

The abbot shakes his poorly-fitting head. “No, brother Phallus. We do not possess locks on our doors, for this is a monastery, and the Lord sayeth we shall not shut ourselves away from the common folk, no matter their prodigious bloodthirst.”

The door flies open, and the leader of the Vikings - yours truly - stomps in with an ax over his shoulder, too large for him to actually wield. “ _Mine menn er kåt! Ta med dine nonner!_ ” After careful consideration, I though I'd speak the Viking's lines in Norsk as opposed to my own mother tongue. I think more than only several thousand mammals in the world should understand it. The monks look between each other nervously as brother Bogus translates.

“He-he says to give him all the silver and our deaths will be quick.”

A brief closeup shows the Viking blinking, confused. " _Det er ikke det jeg sa, men ok_."

The tallest monk, here portrayed by Chet, looks around incredulously. “Are they all... by the Lord! Brothers, these heathens are _tiny!_ Are we going to let them slaughter us like lambs when we could fight them so easily?”

The other monks gasp, shocked, and the abbot chides his wayward brother. “Brother Tyrannosaurus! That is not the monk’s way!"

He hangs his head in contrition. "I understand, abbot. Forgive me. But must we line up to be slain when we could as easily throw them from the cliffs?" The other monks look between each other and shrug, seeming to find reason in brother Tyrannosaurus' words. But the abbot shakes his head.

Harry puts on his best preaching voice and reaches out to his flock. "My brothers... never forget your oaths to the Lord, your vows, and the three main rules of being a monk: celibacy, poverty, and pacifism. Let us not stand in their way, for yea though they be complete dicks, it is not their fault that these heathens do not know the light of God. Let us make their stay short, my brothers, and aid them in collecting the ridiculous wealth stored away in our coffers. Then we shall let them execute us, as is their heathen way, that we may sooner be pressed unto the woolly bosom of our Creator."

" _Faen, denne fyren noen gang slutte å forkynne?_ " The Viking leader hefts his ax and the camera switches to a close-up of an empty sheep mask atop a set of robed dummy shoulders. The ax swings past, slapping the empty mask off the erzats-abbot, and the camera switches once again to the terrified monks in their hall, with the apparently-headless abbot lying motionless on the floor. " _Ok, tiden er oppe. Av med hodene dine_." The scene fades out to the sound of a scuffle.

 

I pull my glasses off, rubbing the bridge of my nose as the sketch ends. “Well... we can always say we tried,” I sigh, resigned.

Chet looks between me and the others, confused. “Hey, I know they can’t all be _winners_ , Reese, but I think it came out all right. What do you guys think?” The sound of rattling heads and noncommittal affirmations backs him up as he looks back to me. “Relax, man. We all feel like that when we finish something, but sometimes self-criticism isn't totally warranted.”

“Speak for yourself,” Audie interjects, grinning. “I’m _hilarious_.” Her well-timed comic bravada is appreciated, but doesn’t help my mood.

“I don’t know. I just don’t think it’s very funny.” I set my glasses back on my face and lean back on Chet’s couch. “We’ll probably just piss off the sheep and the Christians, which normally I’d be fine with. But shouldn’t there be some goddamn _humor_ in the sketch?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Billie groans, rolling her eyes with such emphasis that she rolls her ass right off the couch and walks into the kitchen for a beer.

Harry scratches himself, pondering, and speaks. “Bro, I hate to be the one that breaks it to you... again... but I think you’re kind of a crappy judge when it comes to deciding when things are funny or not. You say basically the same think every time we make a sketch with you in it, and so far we just get more and more subscribers. I can understand you not thinking shit’s funny when the punchline is, as you put it, ‘punt Reese into a tree,’ but we’ve actually started building a decent following, man. It's just in your head, bro.”

Chet’s turn to try to pump me up again. “Yeah! We really hit paydirt with _Don’t Be A Beast_ , too, I’ve been tracking views and subscriptions. We wouldn’t be doing half as well without that, and we owe a lot of that specifically to you.”

I reach up to rub a temple. Why the fuck did he have to bring that up? “Hey, can you not remind me of those? I never liked them and I can’t wait until that fucking campaign is over. Fuck’s sake, ‘Don’t Be A Beast?’ What, was ‘Don’t Go Savage, Asshole’ already taken? That’s got to be the most backhanded, ill-conceived campaign I’ve ever heard of.”

“Cheese and crackers. The only folks upset about it are Chirpr keyboard warriors and _you_ ,” Audie gripes, patting me on the shoulder. “Why would _you_ care what impression it makes? Aren’t you the guy who gets drunk and tries to hunt city pigeons with rocks?”

If Chet ever posts that video, I'm killing him in his sleep. “Keyboard warriors, me, and half the mammals in CRAMP, thank you so much for getting me on _that_ mailing list! Every time I check my email there’s another dumb fucker clogging up my inbox with some sob story about how I’m setting a bad example for their dumb fucking kits. Well, you know what, lady? They’re _your_ kits, why don’t _you_ fucking raise them?” I need to find out if I can block just some of my CRAMP emails. I’m okay with the official ones, but the goddamn peanut gallery I can do without.

Chet sighs, rubbing his head. “Well, if you feel that strongly about it we can shelve it.” A chorus of groans erupts from the assembly, punctuated by lamentations on the cost of rubber masks and bathrobes. “Guys, really! Everyone has the right to ask it, I thought we were clear on it. Just because nobody’s actually _done_ it yet doesn't mean it’s not an option. What do you say, man?” he asks, looking to me expectantly.

I look around at the rest of my troupe of douchebags as Audie grips my shoulder in support or - no, I feel claws. It might be a warning. I shake my head and wave a paw dismissively. “No, fucking... go ahead. It’s not the _worst_ goddamn thing we’ve put out.”

I feel the room release a collective sigh of relief and the paw on my shoulder relaxes its death grip. “It’s okay, dude,” Audie coos. “One day you’ll get over yourself.”

 

Out where no mortal voice can call me I lie in a hammock hanging over the stern of a weathered trawler. Am I dreaming? Probably. This one seems nice so far, I’ll let it run its course. I usually get jerked from a sound sleep partway through these, but that’s no reason not to squeeze every second of precious slumber out of the day. I need every halcyon moment of rest I can scrape together.

A sound catches my ear: the telltale _whizzz_ of a reel with a fish on its hook. Showtime! I leap from my comfy hammock and take the rod in my paws, and though I’m sure I’ll reel in my phone or something else depressing, I begin to fight. ...Shit. Phone or not, this thing doesn’t want to be caught. Well I say _fuck_ you, you’re getting in this boat, and I’ll be starting tonight off in my usual terrible mood when I get my paws on you!

I’m not sure how long the fight lasts. This being a dream, it doesn’t really matter, but I want to guess between seven hours and a year. A couple storms came through and I almost went overboard more times than I care to count. But if this dream is gonna wake me up like the rest, it’s gonna goddamn earn it! With one final, climactic heave I brace my feet against the gunwale and pull mightily - were this real, I’d have probably ripped my back in half - and throw my catch over and onto the deck behind me.

“ _Oww!_ Jeez, dude! Remind me not to try _that_ again. Fuck...”

I look at my catch in shock and - wonder? horror? - as I realize it to be that most devilish of sea-strumpets, the cantankerous... uh... mer-Audie. I pace back and forth across the poop deck, my peg leg tapping ominously as I try to decipher the meaning of this omen. The old sailors’ tales are mixed as far as these creatures go; they can be very sweet, and no finer company can be found for a lonely fisherman, or they can be a bloody scale-assed pain in the ass! “What’re ye after, she-beast?” I ask, squinting at her with my good eye.

“Wow, _r_ _ude_. I know I was messing with you, but namecalling isn’t strictly necessary. Why are you limping?”

“Enough of yer questions!” I straighten my heavy coat and chew the tip of my pipe, looking her over. It’s weird how she can stand up on that flipper-tail. “What brings ye to me fishin’ spot? Mer-critters I’ve seen before, but none so confounding a puzzle as yerself.”

“Oh fuck, are you still asleep?! I’m _so_ glad I’m recording this... uhh, YES, it is I, the great sea-bitch! I came because you baited your hook with a hot and crispy corn bug, you salty butthole. Release me from your craft or I shall curse you with... uh, with the sand fleas of all the beaches in Jersey!”

I rub my scruffy, somehow-bearded chin in thoughtful contemplation. “The sea-bitch, do ye say... what proof possess ye, dread sea witch? How knows I that ye be no mere sea- _tramp?_ ”

“Uhh, BEHOLD!” she cries, summoning with one paw a great wave that splashes across my salty face. A good trick, but any wise sailor knows every mermaid has _some_ command over water. I’ll play her game until she drops her guard.

“Aye, a witch ye be! And what deal seek ye with me?”

“Oh, uh... deal?”

“Aye, deal. A sea-witch never shows herself without a deal in mind." Crafty minx though ye think ye be, a grizzled sailor is a wilier beast than thee! "Or mayhaps be ye not a-“

“Oh I’m TOTALLY a... I mean, SILENCE, captain salty balls! I challenge you to... eat your pipe!”

I lift my eyepatch to stare with both eyes, that's how confused I am. “That be no deal. That be hardly a _dare_. And I needs me pipe.”

“Oh. Okay, uh... switcheroo! You tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you how to earn my, uh... my MAGNIFICENT BOON.”

 _Definitely_ not a sea witch. That’s how a proper witch _opens_ the encounter, not tries to salvage it! I consider my options, looking her over. It HAS been a long seven-hours-to-a-year I’ve been at sea, and a man has needs... “I’ve made me choice, sea-temptress, and me boon is... yer bosom!” I snarl, lifting her like a soggy bride and carrying her, flailing and - laughing? - towards the cabin door.

“Agh! HEY! All right, I’ve been caught, lemme go you... Ow! Dude what the _hell_ , are you trying to shove me into the fucking-“

“I KNEW ALL ALONG, ye slippery tart! No self-respecting sea witch gets caught on a trawl line! Ye aren’t but a mere  _mer-Audie._  Thought ye’d pull the wool over on me, but I knows all about yer kind! The tail of a walleye and the eyes of one too! Ye never shood have strayed so far from Gitchee-Gumee, ye little rasc-“

“ **SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LITTLE FREAKS, I’M TRYING TO FUCKING SLEEP!** ”

I open my eyes - finally awake - and look around myself. What was I doing? Why am I standing if I just woke up?

“Uhh... hey captain Ahab, you wanna stop trying to stuff me between the cushions?” Audie asks, half-buried in the couch.

Oh, Audie’s here. “What the fuck are you doing down there?”

She pries herself out of the couch’s grip and dusts herself off, trying to keep from laughing. “Learning a fucking lesson, I guess: let sleeping dicks lie, but _always_ record the results. Now stop chewing on that 'pipe,' you're gonna make it gross,” she adds, plucking a ballpoint pen from between my teeth.

I... wha... oh goddamnit. “Fuck’s sake, can’t I ever just get some sleep around here?”

 

I stare at the coffee pot as it fills slowly, briefly contemplating just dunking my fucking head in. You can absorb caffeine through your skin, right? I mean _sure_ , it'd hurt like fuck, but I think the burning sensation might distract me from the **debilitating headache** I'm currently dealing with. And I think my burned skin would go numb after a little while, too, so win-win, right?

...Nah, you're right. It'd probably really suck, and then I'd look so awful that I'd have to spend the rest of my life tending a lighthouse or ringing church bells or... fuck, I think both of those jobs are automated nowadays. What's left for complete social outcasts and freaks? Daytime talk shows, with paper gift bags and pats on the back for 'bravery?' Get fucking real. If I lose half my face in an accident, I guess I'll just have to terrorize teenagers or something. It probably doesn't pay well, but it seems to be the only career path left to the horrifically disfigured. At least until they invent psychotic, murderous robots, anyway.

Audie's coffeemaker, looking positively adorable next to Billie's much larger machine, finally stops dripping and a relieved sigh claws its way out of my throat. I pour myself a cup and take a seat on the counter as it cools, deciding this would be some good time to kill some brain cells by staring at my phone. Okay... first off, email. Some spam worked its way past the filter, that simply won't do. Isn't Zoogle the biggest fucking company in the world by now? And _they_ can't figure this shit out before spammers do? Goddamnit. But it's not like I pay them or anything, so what the fuck can I expect. Oh nice, a rejection. I only sent the fuckers that manuscript _months_ ago, good to see they're prompt with- fucking goddamnit, _another_ one? I expect I'll reply to one of these concerned mothers one day, and that'll be the day my nonexistent career dies a horrible death. That or I become huge with a certain crowd of such extreme douchebags that I'll _wish_ my career were dead.

Audie’s grating yet endearing call echoes from the living room. “Hey, did you make coffee or what?”

I look up from my... I think I’ll call this a ‘depression’ of emails, and stare at the doorway. “Yeah.”

An uncomfortable silence follows, broken by indignant mock-fury. “Well, are you _bringing_ it here?”

Fuck that! “Hell no, I’m not your butler.”

“Yeah, well you’re under my roof, breathing my air, and drinking _my_ coffee. Plus aren't you, like, my boyfriend now or something? Aren’t you supposed to _dote_ on me?” she laughs, unable to keep a serious tone for as few as ten words.

I groan, shoving my phone in my pocket as I look for another appropriately-scaled mug. It’s probably less of a pain in my ass just to play along with the joke than to risk hungover Billie coming out of her room like a tropical storm of being an enormous bitch.

I arrive at the couch with two piping-hot cups of coffee and set them on the very sensibly-named article of furniture that sits right in front of it. I climb up, seat myself beside a smiling Audie, lift the two cups, and quickly chug them both at great personal discomfort.

"DUDE! Holy shit!" she laughs, gasping for breath as she convulses wildly. "That's the dickiest, most HARDCORE fucking move I've ever seen! What the fuck, why aren't you _always_ this funny?"

I take a short, pained breath. "Because art is suffering... but only when you... you can turn that suffering into inspiration and fatally burn the entire inside of your body. Oh fuck, get me something cold, I don't care what, just get it now!"

She returns to me a moment later with a special treat. "Well, here you go. One special sundae with whipped cream and sprinkles!" She sets the bowl in front of me, and I can clearly see that the 'sprinkles' are generic painkillers, probably ibuprofen. But do I care? Shit no, I've scalded my entire inside! The worst of this will undoubtedly be the eventual coffee-and-lactose-fueled diarrhea, but as of now I don't even care. I grab pawfuls of chilled dairy and medicine, cramming my mouth full of sweet, soothing relief. "Cheese and crackers, dude, I _brought_ you a-"

"I DON'T CARE," I cry, loading my gullet with the bane of my intestines as though readying to unload a fusillade of cannonfire on a rival man-o-war. I freeze, slowly closing my eyes as I force down one last swallow.

Audie pokes me cautiously as I sit stalk-still before her, concern writ large across her face. "Uh, you okay? Brain freeze or something? Wait, do you even know what brain fre-"

" _IKNOWWHATBRAINFREEZEISICOMEFROMALANDOFICE_ ," I bark, scrambling from the couch and into the bathroom with a vigorous haste hitherto unknown in this apartment, shutting the door behind me to block out the worst sounds of the impending salvo. The guns are loaded, the ship is rolling, now wait for the captain's command to... FIRE! And fire I do, ejecting the contents of my stomach upon the unwitting microbes sailing so peacefully until now in their little porcelain sea.

After several minutes of quietly moaning on the tile floor, I hear tapping at the door. "Uh, hey," Audie calls, clearly assuming I haven't perished in the battle. "Are you all right? I have to brush my teeth, so if you're throttling your cod or something, you've got three seconds to finish because I'm coming in anyway."

 

I dig through my clothes, sniff-testing each article for freshness, and eventually settle on a slightly-oversized band shirt Harry gave me after my recent laundry troubles. I'm not familiar with the band; Harry thinks I'd like them, they're 'all Vikingy and shit' as he put it, but I was sold on them the moment I saw a howling wolf in Viking armor standing over a cross he'd just chopped down. It really speaks to my heritage, which... I don't know, feels kind of strange to me for some reason. Why would I love the culture I came from and hate almost _every_ member of that culture? If it's homesickness, I think I should get my fucking brain looked at, because I do NOT miss living there. Beatings, ridicule, exclusion from anything involving anyone besides direct relatives... it doesn't matter if you have the strength of three men when hitting one back gets a dozen of them on your ass at once.

Maybe it's nostalgia. Not nostalgia for _living_ there, I think I explained that pretty fucking succinctly just a second ago. More like Nostalgia for an age I was never even a part of, the age described in the old histories written by the paws of my ancestors, passed down to me in the sagas I begged so often to hear from my grandfather and his fishing buddies. Back when things were a little harsher, life was a little less giving, and if you could learn the language and do what it took to survive, it didn't matter if you came from the fucking moon or what. Big guy like me, shit... I used to daydream about that a little bit. Guy like me could have had the smartest, the most beautiful wife... maybe _several_ , who knows... and if anyone talked shit I'd challenge them to a duel, cut their fucking head off, and then I'd own their house and their boat, and I'd take their wife and kids as my own. Knowing what I know now, that's probably the only way I could even get kids.

"HEY. Did you fucking stroke out for a second or something?" Audie asks, waving her arms from atop the couch. Goddamnit, I got stuck in my head again. I blink and pretend not to see myself as the cross-chopping Viking wolf, clearing my throat.

"No, I just got to thinking about... you know what, nevermind," I answer, my voice a bit rough from the evening's events so far. It's about to get rougher, though, as I climb onto the couch and pull my pipe from my bag.

"Ew. Do you _have_ to smoke that right now?"

I pause. 'Ew?' I look to her, pushing my glasses up my snout so I can see that _she_ can see that I think she's being ridiculous. "You smoke... everyone in this apartment smokes nip in here, but _tobacco's_ not allowed?"

"Yeah, well, you make more smoke and it doesn't smell as good," she offers, shrugging lightly. "Doesn't taste good, either. Makes you taste like a burnt butthole," she laughs, tauntingly.

I throw my arms wide, greatly exaggerating my exasperation. "Well with how often our lips actually touch, I'm surprised you'd notice!" Damn it, she's doing something. She's trying to put me into a good mood with humor, and it just might work. "Besides, it was _your_ idea that we try writing something I'd actually think was funny, and I told you that I always smoke when I write. You said that was fine."

"I thought you meant a joint or something! Jeez, excuse me for not reading minds. Even if I _did_ , for all I know you don't even think in English anyway."

"The hell do you- _nobody_ can write on nip, you know that! Not even Harry, and he's a fucking professional stoner! He gets a buzz going, and the best he can come up with is 'burrito bagel,' which - though we all laughed at it for HOURS - isn't funny _at all_ to anyone who isn't equally fucking high. Tobacco isn't as fun as nip, no, but it gives me patience and focus, and that's what I need to write. Okay?"

She rolls her eyes, flapping her mouth to make fun of my long-windedness. Oh sorry, some of us majored in words, Audie, and it had the side effect of making us use them. "Fine, you big red baby. Stink up the couch and let's get this shit going, already."

I pack the bowl and light it, puffing carefully until it's going well, and then I take a couple proper puffs to get a little nicotine in me. I'll need it, since I barfed up all the caffeine I'd drank earlier. "All right. What've you got?"

Audie makes a show of thinking. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and rubs her temples lightly as if she were some dumbass medium in a sideshow. "I'm thinkiiing... you, sitting on Harry's shoulders, wearing a long coat."

I cock my head, visualizing such a foolish attempt at a disguise. "That... that would never work. He's four, five times my size, especially in width, we'd look like a traffic cone in a coat. That's nowhere near plausible if-"

"Well yeah, that's kinda the _point!_ Nobody would buy that in real life, so just to attempt it would be funny, much less for it to work."

I scratch my head, puffing idly as I wrack my brain for any situation that could make that funny to me. "All right, well, what would we be doing?" I really should realize that trying to think of something I'd find funny is a hard order to fill. Not in general, I don't think, but if I'm involved in its creation, I'm probably just going to think it's shit no matter what.

"Yeah, uh, I kinda just thought of that and thought it would look funny. Cut me a break, we just started."

Before I can express even the least frustration at this, Billie - now downgraded to a tropical depression of hungover bitchery - emerges from her room and makes a beeline for the bathroom. "You could write one about how if your weird sex fantasies wake me up again, I'll skin you both for fucking socks." And with that, she slams the door. I hope we missed a spot and she slips on ice-cream barf.

"The fuck is she talking about?" I ask, looking back to Audie. "How about a sketch about murderers trying to get rid of a way bigger body than they can carry? We can roll Billie up in a rug and push her down some stairs. _That_ sounds funny."

Audie hums, thinking. "I like it, but there's too big a risk of injury if she's actually _in it_ , and I have to live with her."

"Not if she's in a coma, you don't."


	58. The Mighty Slog

I sit in an armchair in front of a dark curtain, dressed smartly, wearing a collared shirt and a dark grey waistcoat. It's surprising what you can find at Goodwool, and it costs only pocket change! Of course there's always the risk of fleas, but flea powder's cheap and who hasn't had a few fleas once in a while? I take a sip of water from a small glass and set it gently on the little table beside me as I look to the camera and greet the audience. "Welcome! Thank you for watching, I understand your time is valuable, and I appreciate your working me into your busy schedule. My name is Reese, and I am a whore."

The camera starts to turn away as if to leave, but I call it back. "Hey, come on, not like _that!_ Don't run off on me now, you just got here. What I do is completely legal, and wholly socially acceptable!" I explain, wearing an insincere smile. "The only mammal it hurts is me, but..." I grin, looking just a little to the side, away from the lens. "But who isn't a little dead inside, anyway?" I shift in my seat, leaning forward. "What I'm offering you in exchange for your filthy money is my whole and complete participation in shilling your goods or services to an overstimulated and poorly-educated population. Advertising!" I announce, straightening up with my arms spread as if to welcome the dawn. "The single greatest purpose one can pursue in our capitalist shithole of a society."

The camera angle switches abruptly to my left, and I turn my head to face it. "I'm a charming, charismatic young performer with intelligence and vigor to spare. I may not the best-looking mammal, but I'm easy on the eyes, and I'm also homeless, and desperate to supplement my income and my... let's face it, my _nonexistent_ savings. 'But where do I come in?' you ask, looking down on me, a Dickensian beggar standing hat-in-paw on your doorstep. Why, for the merest fraction of your expenses - the slimmest sliver of the pie chart that is your operating budget - I will sing the praises of your business. I will drape myself, naked and purring, over the hood of a brand-new... hell, even a _used_ car, and attract attention to your enterprise."

The camera changes again, to a view from behind the chair. It's all the same camera, we just keep turning the rug that the chair and table are on. I look around for it and find it, feigning surprise, and I climb onto the back of the chair, laying across it as a vixen in a sequin dress would lay herself atop a grand piano. "You may ask me, 'But Reese, why do this to yourself? Why kill your soul and diminish yourself as an artist for the spare change and wretched table scraps of the better-off? Have you no pride?' Yes. Yes, I _do_ have pride, a little bit much of it to be honest. But more importantly I have an empty stomach, and while I have a fully-formed brain with overinflated notions of my own self aplenty, it is also replete with hardwired biological drives set deep into its core where no prideful thought dare tread."

I roll onto my stomach, eyes locked on the camera as I change from one humiliating and suggestive position to another. "I haven't eaten in _days_. I have to admit it's good for a fella's figure, but certainly not for his standards. So when you're out there, doing what you do, won't you think of me? And more importantly, all the vacuous, mindless worker bees and consumer drones I can attract to you with my little honeybee flower dance." I lick my teeth slowly, sensually, and blow a kiss to the camera. As the picture fades, I mime a telephone with my thumb and pinkie, mouthing the words _call me_. As soon as the red light turns off I release a long, tired breath. "Oh fuck, I feel dirty."

Harry approaches the chair and pats me on the ass. "Ahh, you'll get over it. Everyone does shit they don't like to avoid dyin', you think Chet enjoys temping?"

"You think you'd enjoy me biting your paw off at the wrist?" I answer, only halfway joking, and Harry removes his paw from my rump. I climb down off the chair and scratch my head, checking the time. Almost nine in the morning. Great. That means I have, let's see... _no_ time to sleep if I want to look for some dilapidated cupboard of an apartment somewhere in this disgusting city. I'm halfway tempted to just look at cars on Camelslist, but anything big enough for all my shit would need modification in order for me to pilot it, and anything sized appropriately for me wouldn't have the space I need.

Harry chuckles. "Shit, I thought if I touched your ass I'd have to worry about Audie biting me, not _you_. ...Well, not really, I wouldn't be surprised if you had. You're pretty touchy about personal space and shit."

Goddamnit, I missed half of what he said. I'm too tired to focus, and too stressed to think. I need somewhere to _live_. I wonder if... "Hey, Harry. How hard is it to get on someone else's lease?"

"Huh?" He scratches his gut, thinking. "Iunno. Probably depend on the landlord, why?"

'Why?' Oh what can I expect, with as much as he smokes. He's probably only slightly more cogent than I am right now. "Like _your_ lease, for example. How hard would it be to get added onto your lease."

He shrugs. "Iunno. I could check with my landlord, even though he's a dick, but I... OH. Oh, are you talking hypothetical, or for serious?"

I cross my arms and rub my chin, pretending to think. "Hm, I'm not sure... oh, that's right. I'M SERIOUS, you..." I cut myself off. As angry and stressed as I am, it's not his fault. "Could you ask or something, man?"

Harry sighs. "Yeah, about that. Turns out the city condemned my building yesterday, so I've been talkin' about moving in with Norm. On the bright side, they're making my landlord pay back a couple months of rent, so that's pretty cool, but the whole thing was kind of a surprise to me."

"Seriously? A surprise? What, the city doesn't think wood baseboards should feel like packing foam and smell like dirt? Who'd have thought they'd condemn such a shithole."

He shrugs. "Yeah, you got me there. But it happens, you know, one day you're living in a place for a few years and the next the back corner starts to sag. I actually saw a pigeon knock a brick loose once, that probably shoulda been a signal."  
  
I clear my throat and scratch my side lazily. "Well that's fucking great. Guess I'm looking for a place after all, I'll see you later."

 

I hate taking buses when the sun's up. Too many smells, too many fuckers, and nobody watches where they're stepping. No wonder I see so many mammals my size with short tails! I stand in the first of what may be many leasing offices I'll see today, listening to some paper-pusher prattle on about rules and regulations. "Wait... what was that last part?" I ask, looking up at the young vixen behind the counter.

She lifts her eyebrows slightly, having looked to another one of her tasks for a moment. "What, the reference section?"

I cock my head, wondering if she's playing some game with me. "No, no. The last thing you said, about when I bring the application back."

"Oh. Yeah, there's a forty-five dollar application fee when we take your application. Some places charge even-"

I raise a paw, staring her in the eye. "Okay, uh, and if I pay that, do I... do I _get_ the apartment?"

"Uh, well... _maybe_ ," she answers, offering a small shrug. "Are you not familiar with application fees? Ours is actually lower than a lot of others', some places charge as much as _ninety_ , if you can believe it."

I look between the application and the clerk, thinking, cogitating, trying to wrap my sleep-deprived brain around it. "Wait, I have to _bribe_ you just to hand in the application, and I might not even be allowed to rent here after that?!"

She's clearly had this conversation before, though perhaps not with such an accusation. "No, it's not... it's not a _bribe!_ It's a clerical fee, there's a lot of work that goes into processing a new application, checking up on references, and trying to schedule showings. Like I said, ours is actually pretty low, so I really don't see what you're mad about."

"Did they charge you to take your _work_ application?"

"What? No, that's not- that's different."

"What if I gave you the application and didn't pay?"

"Well, I'd hold onto it, but the management would probably throw it in the trash."

"So if you take the bribes personally, do you get a cut? Or is this something 'management' doesn't know about?"

She seems to be losing her own patience now. "Sir, it's _not_ a bribe. You can go to any other property management company or apartment complex in this city and they'll have one, too."

"Just because everyone takes bribes doesn't mean it's right!"

She sighs, resting her chin on a paw. "All right, fine. If you don't want to pay the fee, you can just leave the application and try somewhere else."

"And are they going to want _references_ too? I'm not applying for a job, I need somewhere to live."

"Yeah! Yeah, they are! Look, just... just take the application and go get another one somewhere else, then compare the two of them. I don't know where _you're_ from, but this is how things are done here. Maybe go back to wherever you're from and live _there_ if you don't like it here. Have a nice day, sir."

I rub my face and groan as I leave, ignoring her insincere farewell. What the fuck is wrong with this goddamn city?! It's bad enough I need to fill out references, but I need to pay for them just to take the goddamn thing with no guarantee I'll get the fucking apartment! Cheese and rice. And from the noise, I don't think I want to live there anyway; I don't know if those children's parents are dead or what, but if they make that much goddamn noise and they're still alive, I wouldn't last three hours before I lost my mind and bought myself a life sentence.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, and more fuck. She was _right_. Every building, every company requires a ridiculous fucking fee. Maybe I can find a wooden crate in an alley... or fuck, maybe I'll break into the police impound lot and live in my FUCKING VAN since my insurance company is dragging their fucking feet with my money! Shut up, shut up, shut up... think about what that doctor said. Positivity. Try thinking about positive things once in a while and see if it helps. Positive... well, I've got two things going for me. I've got a regular job, even if it is at a hellish hour, and the last thing my insurance company told me was that they'd received 'an anonymous tip' and are investigating my case further. Goddamn right they received a tip, I left it with the local agent myself! And speaking of my job, it's about time I caught a bus going that way.

 

I arrive at Matsumoto's just as he opens the door for the afternoon. This crazy bastard's open for something like sixteen hours a day, but only needs help for half that. He could probably shut the place down for a few hours in the early morning and catch a nap, but I think the merest suggestion might get me snapped with a chopstick. _Fuck_ that chopstick. "Good day," I greet, dipping my head to him as I enter. I assume that he's nodded in return. I likely caught his attention with the greeting, so he probably saw my halfhearted bow. That's a custom I could do without, to be honest; for one thing, you have to do it _just_ _right_ , and make sure your 'superior' _sees_ you do it, as if I were a soldier saluting his goddamn officer! I have issues with that in particular, thanks to my dad, but at least he never made me do a salute over and snap the back of my head while I wasn't looking.

The crack of a stick doesn't greet the back of my head this time, though, so I'm pretty sure he saw it. That, or he's waiting for me to take my hat off... I'll just not turn my back. I take my work clothes from the low hook on the wall, hanging my mariner's cap in their place, and suit up. All right, he's not even coming my way, I must be in the clear. "Hey, uh... before I get started, do you mind if I have a drink?"

He glances to me for a second, then looks back to his rice preparation. "A drink? I can offer tea."

Hm. Tea wouldn't be a bad idea. I could certainly use the caffeine, but that's not what I'm looking for. "Uh, thanks, but I was thinking of something... uh, stronger." Matsumoto turns his head slowly as his paws freeze. He fixes me with a withering stare and I can almost feel the sting of his discipline already. "Don't give me that look, I asked about _a_ drink, just _one_. I've been up all day dealing with thieves, bastards, and bureaucrats, and I just need something to take the edge off.

He growls softly, thoughts dancing and swirling behind his eyes, and he pulls a kettle from under the counter. "I will make you a strong tea. You will not drink anything but tea and water when you are working for me."

"That's... well, I guess I'll live," I sigh. After a minute or two he offers me a small, white cup of the most vivid-green concoction I've ever seen. Having no time to waste, I knock it back like a shot of espresso or vodka (either of which I'd have preferred over whatever the _fuck_  that was) and grab the broom to begin sweeping. My employer stares at me, looking mildly shocked, but also somehow entertained as I go about my duties. Ugh... that tasted like the garden section of a hardware store smells. Like leaves and dirt.

The usual crowd filters in over the next couple hours, and I can reasonably assume that there is indeed caffeine in that weird elixir of wakefulness. Colin stops in, as is his custom, and Matsumoto allows the two of us to shoot the shit for a while. "Heard anything on the theater?" I ask, leaning on my broom.

He shrugs, chewing on a roll. "Insurance is dragging their feet. Their assessor came by the next day and said it was one of the most clear-cut cases she'd ever seen, so we don't know what's holding them up. Ursula's been lighting a fire under their ass. Figuratively, of course, she's just been calling them daily. They shouldn't promise to close cases quickly and then welch at the last minute, it's just bad business sense."

I sigh, removing my toque momentarily to scratch my head. "That's just fucking great," I muse, checking the edge of my vision to be sure Matsumoto didn't hear me curse at work. He couldn't have, given the volume at which some office worker is murdering music right now, but I'm not letting my guard down for a second. "Anything else going on? Just tell me where there's a stage, I don't care too much what the show is, I just need _something_ creative or I'll go insane."

Colin thinks as he consumes a couple nigiri, his brow furrowed in thought. "Well... Ursula's never not got _something_ going on. You could check with her, a lot of the time she's looking for help with something at the nocturnal high school. Clinics for the drama club, special productions for the student body, that kind of thing."

I shudder. "Fuck, she works _there?_ I'm not setting foot inside that building without collecting a check at the end of the night." That's an actual statement I made to the faculty. They seemed to understand.

"What?" he asks, looking to me from his meal. "What'd you do at the school?"

"Shit... I got duped into doing some substitute teaching a while back. I had to spend a quarter of my pay on cigarettes just to cope, it wasn't fun. I don't know how anybody deals with that."

"Cheese and crackers... wait a minute, are you the _Rameo and Eweliette_ guy?! Ursula told me some of her students had this sub who-"

I raise a paw, indicating I will not participate further on that conversational track. " _Never_ say those words to me." He bites his lip, trying not to laugh, and I let him recover his composure. "Is there anything else going on? Seriously, if I don't collapse into a black hole of depression first, I'm going to die of ennui within the month."

He flutters his lips. "I don't know, man. You could see if Asa and the band need anything, you could probably help them with some lyrics or something. Oh... hey, there's this club that's opening soon in the Meadows, they're looking for pred-"

"NO. No," I interrupt, speaking firmly. "I know _exactly_ which club you're talking about, and the answer is no."

"Oh, that's a shame. I don't think I know any of the other guys who'll be working there, I'd have liked to have someone to talk to."

"What the f-... are you seriously going to be dancing there?"

He shrugs. "Eh, yeah. Figured I'd see if it's any fun, you know? I know a few moves, a little extra money wouldn't hurt, and I'm always looking for new experiences. If not that, I could show you some things about street performance sometime."

"Uh, yeah, maybe." Ugh... there are some artists for whom all the world is a stage, but I prefer a  _stage_.

 

I jerk awake to the sound of a scream, hitting my head against what sounds like glass. "OW! Fuck, shit... what's all that goddamn noise?!" Where the hell am I... oh, goddamnit. I can't see anything. Normally I'd be worried if that blow to the head blinded me, but from the smell, I know _exactly_ where I am. I sniff my way through the darkness and find the shelf of sauces, pushing hard until the door opens and I tumble out of the fridge and onto the floor of Norm's kitchenette. I rub my head and straighten my glasses, looking toward the couch where I see Norm laughing uncontrollably while a very slightly smaller, but still obese, black bear is losing her shit.

"DAMNIT, BOY, WHY AIN'T YOU _TELL_ ME HE WAS IN THERE? I ABOUT HAD A HEART ATTACK, YOU STOP LAUGHIN'." Norm can't speak for the absolute joy that has seized him, no matter how she tries to strike him. His mirth is unconquerable.

I shuffle into the living room and try to get her attention, figuring in my half-asleep daze that an introduction might make things better. Normally, I'd probably just go wait in the bathroom for whatever this is to blow over, but this isn't a time for rational thought! I need a few minutes to get my bearings on a good day, and a heavy dose of caffeine the other three hundred sixty-four days of the year. I approach and lift a paw in greeting, introducing myself. "Uh, hi. I'm Reese, and Norm keeps his apartment too fucking hot, so I usually end up in the fridge."

The sow swats at me halfheartedly, still a little on the edge, but I think I can hear a slight tint of laughter in her voice. "Boy what the _hell_ is wrong with you! You about scared me outta my skin, you just lucky I got things to do tonight or I'd whip your tiny little ass. Norm, you best watch your goddamn self, I ain't lyin'! You ever do that shit again and I'm gonna shove your little friend up ya  _ass_." She gathers her purse and exits, leaving me alone and confused with only Norm and his incessant giggle.

"What the _fuck_ is going on, damnit?" I ask, looking to my monumental friend.

Norm takes a while to calm down to the point where he can actually speak. "My... my mama came by to get somethin' my sister left when she picked up Leo, and I told her... I told her there was some of his extra bottles in the fridge. I'm sorry, mammal, I know you sleepy, but I didn't have a choice, you understand!"

Ah, of course. The old 'scare your mom half to death when she's picking up your nephew's crap' schtick, who hasn't heard  _that_ old gem? "Norm, you're a nice guy, and I appreciate you letting me crash here for a bit. But if my sleep gets interrupted again, I'm gonna climb down your throat and jump out of your chest like an alien."

He laughs, as is to be expected.

Harry arrives, carrying an armload of his own crap. "Hey, dudes. Norm, was that your mom leavin'? She was fuckin' _dying_ out there, what'd I miss?"

I seize the opportunity provided by Norm's renewed laughter to preempt any explanation. "Norm'll tell you some other time, when I've NOT been pulled from a restful fucking sleep! _Fuck_ it's hot in here. I'm going back to the fridge."

"Hang on, bro," Harry cautions, pointing to the bunch of crap under his arm. "Lemme get set up, I got something you need to see." I wait impatiently as he sets up his laptop, placing it on the couch, tracking down an outlet, connecting to the wifi... entirely too much for me to wait through, since I'm on only a couple hours' sleep at this point. "All right. You remember not long after we first met, that night when we got super drunk and went to the beach?" he asks, sifting through some files.

"Uh... jeez, how long ago was that?" Fuck, it feels like so long has passed. Was that a _year_ ago? "I don't know, man, I'm too tired right now, and if I was drunk I probably don't."

"Well it's been a year, dude, and that means we've got another video to put up."

Oh goddamnit. "Really, Harry? Can't you show me this later, after I've... wait, why the fuck can 'we' only put it up _now?_ "

Harry nods knowingly, pointing Norm and me to the screen as some crappy, porny-sounding music starts to play. The scene fades in, filtered to look like a low-quality VHS recording from decades ago. Billie and Audie lie on a bed - I recognize it to be Billie's - dressed in skimpy, scandalous lingerie. Billie licks her lips and begins to speak. "Hey, all you dirty little devils out there... we're so glad you could join us tonight for our feature presentation."

Audie chimes in, trying to sound sensual, but her voice lends itself to sexy talk about as well as a turkey's gobble lends itself to opera. "Tonight's movie is a wet, _sexy_ romp through the surf in search of sensual gold."

Billie looks from Audie to the camera and hums suggestively. "Oh, I _know_ you're going to like this one. So get ready, get that belt off, and grab your partner..."

Audie interjects, adding sensually, "Or some lotion, or a pillow..."

Billie continues, "...because tonight's presentation is _Clam Diggers XXXtreme!_ " The title slides into view, and the screen fades to black.

The sound of waves lapping against the shore can be heard. The scene fades in, showing a shaky view of a sunrise over the sea. The cameraman laughs, following a set of small footprints in the sand, and the subject of his laughter appears on-screen: it's me, obviously drunk, swearing as I dig for clams at low tide. "FUCK! You little asshole, I saw you squirt, I know you're fucking down there! Goddamnit..." I toss my stick aside and plod shakily through the muck, leaping at a sudden jet of water ahead of me. I fall far short of my target, due to the sticky sand beneath my feet, and scream a string of curses into the bubbling wet around my face. I pull myself free and set about digging with my bare paws, eventually prying from the shore a whopper of a clam, holding it high above my head with a victorious screech.

The video ends and I stare, quietly, for several moments. Harry waves a paw in front of my face, withdrawing it quickly as I flail and claw at it. "WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE. What the fuck is that?! Were you and Chet _planning_ this shit, what the... SERIOUSLY. Dude, I want a fucking explanation right fucking now."

Harry holds his paws up, trying to ease me down from my sudden spat of rage. "Hey, come on, bro, I didn't plan anything. I just had this video, you know? I took a video of my _friend_ , because it was _funny_ , that's all. But now that friend is a member of a comedy group that I'm in, and well..."

I hold up a paw to stop him, rubbing my brow with the other. "Okay, no. Why is it that it's always _me_ you put up drunk videos of? Huh? What's especially fucking funny about _me?_ Couldn't you put up one of Chet trying to get that candy bar out of the vending machine, or Billie trying to dance?"

"Calm down, bro. I haven't put this up anywhere yet, I wouldn't do that without your blessing, you know that. All right? Just calm down a bit, everything's cool, and it's _not_ just you, okay? There's videos of all of us up now, you just... yeah, there's _more_ of you, but that's because you're a fucking wild animal when you get drunk, and it's fucking _awesome_. I was showing you this so I could ask if we could put it up."

I stare at him, not even wondering how he stays so calm in the face of such accusations as I've made. "What... just what the hell, man. Not _one_ of you could have told me about this before now? Not one? I mean, the lack of communication towards me in this group is really fucking bizarre, I don't know what the hell is going on half the time."

Harry approaches me, patting my shoulder reassuringly. "Dude. We keep telling you to get on Chirpr and join the group chat. But let's not worry about that right now, all right? You're super fucking tired, and I just sprung a big thing on you. My bad, I know, I shoulda told you about it before doin' it. I fucked up there, yeah, I kinda pissed you off when you were super easy to piss off, but it's cool, because we're bros, right?"

Okay, I'm either really tired, really stupid, or Harry's really good at calming me down somehow. Is it his body language? Fuck, I don't know, it's kind of eerie when I think about it. Maybe he's some kind of stoned, stupid Buddha. I push his paw off my shoulder and scratch my neck, starting towards the kitchen. "Man, just... just tell me about this shit, okay? And why'd you hold onto this video for a fucking _year?_ Why bring it out _now_ , and not before?"

"Oh, that's because this one would actually come with a criminal charge before now. One-year statute of limitations on petty crimes like diggin' for clams on a beach without a permit, so you're welcome," he laughs. "Wasn't my idea. Audie came up with it, I just talked her out of doin' it before it was safe for you. So before you go sleep in Norm's fridge or something, what do you think? You think this one can go up?"

Why the fuck would... I breathe a ragged sigh, rubbing a paw over my face. "All right, you know what? Sure. But you tell Audie the next time I go to her place, she's wearing that fucking outfit for me."


	59. The Smell of Defeat

I drag myself and the heavy bags I live out of to Audie's door, too tired even to curse at the sticky lock as I let myself in. I drop the duffel from my shoulder, shuffling weakly forward until I collapse forward on my stomach in the middle of the living room. I hear a stir from Audie's room as she emerges to check who's arrived.

"Hey, if there's some mad stabber out here you better lea- _OH GOD_ , what the fuck is that smell?!"

"SHUT UP," I answer, cracking an eye open. "Don't ask me _shit_ , just club me to death right now and throw me in a dumpster. That's all I want right now, do me a solid and end this miserable farce of an existence, all right?"

She pulls her shirt up to cover her snout, approaching slowly as her eyes begin to water. "Dude, what the fuck. Whatever you're on about, your life's not over. Besides, you _owe_ me shit, so I'm not giving you an easy out. What the hell happened?"

“Goddamnit, why won’t you let me die?”

She creeps over carefully and pulls her shirt off her snout briefly, but gags and replaces it immediately. “Holy shit you’re depressing. But really, what the hell _is_ that? What happened to you?”

I cover my face with my paws and moan pitifully. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She sits down on my back, as if I wasn’t sore enough right now. “GODDAMNIT, GET OFF! Fuck! Are you going to _torture_ me until I talk?!” I shriek, rolling out from under her.

“Iunno, are you gonna tell me what kind of smell you’ve brought into my goddamn home?”

I sit up with a groan, glaring at my girl... friend... friend who happens to be a girl. “All right, _fine_ ,” I sigh. “But bring me some goddamn gin. The big bottle! I intend to-”

“Uh, no?" she interrupts. "I’m not taking Billie’s gin, I don't need to bring that kind of bitchery down on myself.”

Fuck. “Fine, _be_ that way. You remember my high blood pressure? I thought that, you know, since I have a job now, I’d try doing something about that. So I went to ZVS, I finally filled that fucking prescription... did you know doctors can tell if you haven’t done that? I’ve been getting weekly calls about it, it was really pissing me off.”

“Uh-huh, keep talking, I think I’m almost used to the smell,” she retches, wiping her eyes.

I can feel my paws shaking as I relive the experience. “I was waiting at the bus stop when these fucking... these fucking junkies or something came out of nowhere, they must have followed me from the goddamn drug store. One of them pulled a knife on me, told me to give him my fucking pills.”

“Holy shit, are you okay? What the hell happened?” she gasps.

“What the fuck does it SMELL like happened?! I fucking _musked_ myself, goddamnit! I...” I rub my face, sickened by my biology for a different reason than usual for once.

“Cheese and crackers,” she coughs, hesitantly rubbing my shoulder. “But you got away, right? Look on the bright side, it could have been worse. Why don’t you take a shower and put on some clean pants or something.”

“It _was_ worse. I was sitting on my fucking duffel bag.”

She winces. “...Oh. Ew. Uh, why don’t you go take a shower and... I’ll throw all your shit in the wash or something? What are friends for, right?” She goes to the kitchen for a garbage bag, probably so she doesn't stink up the whole building on her way down.

One very long shower later I'm shaking myself off and wrapping a towel around my man-bits. I retrieve my glasses - fortunately _they_ didn't get stunk up - and plod out of the bathroom towards the kitchen. Aside from clothes there is only one thing I need right now and it rhymes with ‘lots of gin.’

“Heeey,” Audie calls from the couch, looking up from her phone. “You feeling any better?”

“I’m feeling _less_ _worse_ , if that counts,” I gripe, shuffling past. I return shortly with a double dose of aqua vitae in a glass and climb onto the couch to dig through my shoulder bag, pulling out a white paper ZVS bag.

“Uh... should you really be taking those with alcohol?” she asks as I swallow my very first blood pressure pill with a sizable sip of gin.

“What, am I _driving?_  I narrowly escaped a mugging earlier, cut me some fucking slack.”

She rolls her eyes. “All right. How’d you get away, anyway? Did they just back off when they smelled you or something?”

“No, but they barfed a lot. I'd have thought junkies were used to bad smells. They dropped their knife, though, and I just... I grabbed it, I freaked out, and I chased them off with it. Went and bought some musk mask but that was a fucking waste of money, I used the whole can and it didn’t do _shit_.”

“Jeez, that was _with_ musk mask? Holy hell. Well, the skunk down the hall let me borrow her laundry soap, so your clothes should be okay. Your bag, too, I just threw everything in the washer.”

I finish my drink and breathe a tired sigh. “Thanks.” I slouch low, staring at the far wall. “Sorry I stunk up the place.”

“Ah, don’t sweat it. I’ve dealt with worse and not ended up with a naked fella in my apartment, so my night’s pretty good so far,” she jokes.

I grimace in an effort to not smile. “Cheese and rice, that’s the most glass-half-full bullshit I’ve ever heard.” I turn my head to her, struggling to keep a straight face and add, “You have a _problem_.”

She laughs, causing me to lose my composure. “Well excuse me for allowing joy into my heart from time to time!”

 

I awake to the sound of a door slamming and a dingo retching violently. “What the FUCK! Oh god, what did you _do?!_ " Billie screams, rousing Audie from her slumber as well.

“SHIT. What time is it?” she asks, disoriented.

“I don’t fucking know, but Billie is home,” I yawn, scratching my side.

“Oh. Then it’s not late, it’s... oh shit, your clothes. Probably oughta move those to a dryer,” she groans, rubbing her eyes. She rises from the bed and shuffles to her dresser, digging out some underwear and a robe. “Just stay in here, I’ll deal with Billie.” She yawns, inducing me to yawn, and stumbles toward the door.

“Hey, before you go... uh, are we... are we serious? Because I _really_ don’t fucking know. I mean, I don’t mind what we’ve got, but I... I’m not really sure what that is.”

She slouches her shoulders, groaning dramatically. “Cripes, dude, can’t you just be cool?” she chuckles, unable to keep a straight face. “I don’t think we need to worry about it. You’re a fella, you’re a friend, you’re size-appropriate... why not just let it ride and see where it goes, huh?” She looks to me, smiling softly. “I like you, yeah. Do... do you _want_ this to be serious?”

I take a deep breath, putting my glasses on. “Fuck, I don’t know right now, I’m too tired. If you think we shouldn’t worry ourselves about it, that’s fine. I mean, I don’t have any real complaints, anyway.”

She smiles widely. “Good. Don’t stress yourself about it, you know? Just... lie back and think of England,” she chuckles.

“...Wow. Way wrong country there, Magellan, I have family who might try to kill you for saying that.”

She waves a paw dismissively as she exits. “Ah, shut up. To everyone else in the world you’re all fucking limeys, anyway, fucking _deal_ with it.”

I groan and stretch, smacking my lips... ugh, I must have been sleeping with my tongue out. It's all sticky. The past couple weeks have been fucking brutal... full-time shifts at Matsumoto's and a daily migration between different friends' couches have combined to rob me of any chance at getting proper sleep, and I've been drinking too much to try to compensate... no, I can't pretend that's a new thing. I should quit wasting my money on drinking and smoking. I piss and cough my money away just killing myself, I know that, but I also know I won't actually _do_ anything about it. I've built up this stupid fucking image of myself in my own head, where I'm like Ernest Lemmingway or something, and the vices I have are a part of me that's just as important as the writing I do.

Fuck, I don't think I've actually written anything in _weeks_. I've tried, but nothing good came of it. I have a feeling tonight, though. Fuck it. I'm gonna try. I climb down from the bed and look for my towel, realizing I'd left it up on top the bed. You know what? Fuck it! I'm going out there as-is. If Billie can't deal with it that's _her_ problem, not mine. I saunter - it's weird, but I've noticed that everyone seems to walk differently when they're naked; some creep, some mosey, but I tend to saunter - from Audie's room into the main living area of the apartment, where Audie's trying to brush off Billie's screaming argument. I make a beeline for the couch and my shoulder bag. The screaming around me ceases, not that I'm concerned with it. All I'm thinking about is plugging in my laptop, picking one of my projects, and pouring myself into it.

"...What the fuck. Does he think he fucking _lives_ here now?"

Audie scoffs. "All his shit's in the wash right now. You've never seen a dick all of a sudden? Just... I don't know, go _blog_ about it or something, I've got shit to do," she snarks, exiting the apartment.

Billie stares coldly at me as I route my power cord from the wall, over the armrest, and to my laptop. "Do you think you're going to sit your bare ass on _my_ fucking couch?"

"I thought it was your _mom's_ couch," I retort, doing as Audie suggested to me once and dragging the _real_ lessee into the argument. "I just showered, my ass is probably cleaner than your pants are right now. So shut up, I need some fucking silence." She stomps into the kitchen and returns shortly, throwing a roll of paper towels at me. "Jeez! Watch it, you fuck!"

"Sit on _those_ ," she growls, rubbing her brow. "God, why does it always fucking _reek_ when you're here?! I'm gonna get migraines from this shit, is there something actually _wrong_ with you?"

I throw my arms out in an emphatic shrug. "I don't know! There could be, I already found out I have blood pressure issues, so who the fuck knows? Sorry for being a genetic Frankenstein, but you already live with _one_ mustelid, I'd have thought you'd be used to smells by now."

"She doesn't _stink_ , and she doesn't leave everything smelling like fucking fish! What the fuck _is_ that?"

I sit politely on a paper towel and hunch over my laptop, waiting as it boots up. "I don't know. You are what you eat, maybe. Is that why you smell like babies? Huh? That why you hang out with Norm, you just waiting to get your paws on his nephew?"

I can tell that caught her off-guard. She clearly never expected I'd go for the dingo-baby thing, and I can see the corners of her mouth twitching, trying to smile despite her anger. "Okay. First off, _specist_ ," she says calmly, pointing a finger at me. "Second..." she pauses, thinking. "All right, there's no second thing, just keep your rank asshole off the fucking furniture." She turns and disappears into her room, slamming the door behind her. I think I hear her laughing into a pillow.

 

Audie returns to find me clutching my head, my claws digging into my scalp as I stew silently under a coal-black cloud of misery and failure. "Hey, dude. Falling down the stygian pit of despair already?"

"I don't want to talk."

She huffs quietly, shaking her head. "You're a big huge wiener, you know that, right?"

"Well what the fuck would _you_ do?" I ask, throwing my paws toward her. "Huh? Have you ever suffered a weeks-long block on top of everything falling to shit? Because if you have, I'd like to hear how you ended that losing streak, because I could use a little win right now."

She raises her eyebrows sarcastically. "What, the little happy-fun-times in there didn't count for anything?" she asks, pointing with a thumb toward her room. "It's good to know sex isn't all you care about, but cheese and crackers, I'd have thought you'd _enjoy_  it." She climbs onto the couch and sits beside me, trying to get a peek at the unfinished drivel on my screen.

"No, that's not it, I just- hey, quit trying to look at that, damnit, it's not good enough."

She sits back and crosses her arms, staring at me with a mock-judgmental stare. "Well how would _you_ know? Is that what you thought about _Gonad the Barbarian?_ "

I close my eyes, sighing in resignation. As long as she's the only other mammal in the world who knows about that, I think I can stand to-

"Because if that's what you think about that, you're fucking wrong, and everyone else agrees with me."

"WHAT? Why the f- did you fucking _tell_ folks about that?!"

She pulls her head back in surprise, as though she shouldn't be used to my emotional outbursts by now. "Uh,  _yeah!_  How the hell was I supposed to keep that to myself? Norm and Harry especially want to read it, and I think we could make fucking _dozens_ of sketches out of it, get a recurring character out of it! Seriously, we need some recurring characters in our videos. Something we can get some mileage out of, you know?"

I close my laptop and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Here's a thought: no! I'm not putting my name or my face on that garbage. I was going to use a pen name for that shit, but I haven't heard anything from the lady who freaking wanted it, so as far as I care that project is dead and belongs in the ground."

"Well, as far as I care, and I think I'm a little more experienced with comedy than you are since I've got a few more years under my belt, that's the dumbest thing you've ever said because Gonad is fucking _gold_. Seriously, why's it so poisonous to you? Why do you hate it?"

"Because it's not... I didn't write it to _write_ it, I wrote it because I needed money and some lady who runs a porn shop said she'd pay me! It wasn't  _art,_ it was just a job. Do you enjoy working at PawPrints? Because that's how I feel about Gonad."

She scratches behind an ear, huffing softly. "God, we _have_ to break this fucking Charles Mookowsky image that you've got in your head. Seriously, you're a LOT more successful as a comic than you are as a writer, why is it so hard for you to give that up and focus on what works?"

"Because I'm not ready to quit," I answer, slouching back. "Even though I probably should, because I can't write a fucking thing. I haven't put a word down in weeks that I didn't immediately delete, no matter how much I smoke or drink, and those have _always_ helped before."

She cranes her neck a bit, peering at my closed laptop. "Well... what've you tried writing?"

I begrudgingly open the laptop and scroll through my folders of projects. "Fantasies, histories, tragedies, historical fictions, plays, fucking _sonnets_ , I've even tried science fiction even though I don't know shit about science FACT." I release a long, groaning sigh and pull my glasses off, putting my paws over my eyes. "And I can't get three words down in a single fucking one of them."

She leans back, stretching her legs as she thinks something over. "Have you tried writing any, oh, I don't know... _jokes?_ It seems like a comic should try to write jokes, if nothing else. Fuck the sonnets, jokes are what pays right now, right?"

I groan slightly. I never come up with anything good when I try to write jokes with outside help. "Jokes about what? About how life is shit and I'm a week from living on the street? Because I have _plenty_ of material on that already."

"No, like..." she huffs, rubbing her forehead. "There's other shit going on in your life. You just got mugged, right? The way you told it to me, that could be fucking _hilarious_. No, don't you- you just shut up, I know what you're gonna say. You don't think it's funny at all, right? Well in time you _will_ , just think about it. And besides that, you've got your whole LIFE to write jokes about! Your friends, your family, your relationships... you could write jokes about _me_ , for fuck's sake, about _us!_ God knows _I_  have. Here, I'll help you out, we'll start with something simple. Tell me about your dad."

 

I sit on the rickety, little stool under the spotlight and cross my arms, holding the microphone to my snout. "All right, time for a social studies lesson. Was anyone else here born under a monarchy? Raise a paw, let's see... one, just one of you. Great, meet me after the show and we can talk about our lords and our crops, see who's got the better hovel or something. So my father is a subject of the British Crown. Since he signed me up at birth for dual citizenship, that means I am _also_ a subject of the Crown. Yeah, you aren't just a citizen in a country that still lives in the Middle Ages, you're a _subject_. There are other weird things, like you don't vote for anyone above your local representative. You vote for them, and they vote on your behalf, which works..." I pause to feign deep thought. "Actually I think it works a little better than what you've got over here, but this isn't a fucking civics class."

I take a drink from my water bottle and set it down beside me. "Anyway. I've mentioned this before, but I'm the result of a strange accident of biology and the general ignorance of my parents. I mean, I'm not saying my parents are stupid. They _are_ , but I'm not saying it." Pause for a little laughter. "Their big thing is that they just didn't know shit about biology, and as a result, I've been biting them in the ass ever since. My mother and father met in a dockside bar in... I think Portsmouth. My mother was there to help unload a shipment of cod, I don't know why she made sure I knew _that_ detail, and my father was there because he was in the Royal Navy's Fishery Protection Squadron. The fact that my father served in the Royal Navy should confuse every single one of you more than the fact that a polecat and a mink could breed, because my father and his entire family are Whelsh nationalists, and they hate nothing more than the English and the Queen."

I slip my fingers under my glasses and rub my eyes. Fuck, my head hurts... "But I'll go deeper into that some other time, or... maybe never, who cares. I'm up here tonight to talk shit on my father, not get into stupid political movements that would hurt more than they help. I don't know if you've noticed by now, but I always refer to him as my father and not my dad. It's not because I'm one of those really weird fucks who actually addresses his parents as 'mother and father.' And I certainly never called my father that. For the first ten years of my life, I called him papa. He was still in the Navy, so I didn't see him very often, but when he'd come to see us... well first off, I didn't feel so weird around him because I inherited his color. Yeah, if you've heard me talk about the inbred islands I grew up on, you might remember that everyone else there ranges from dark brown to very dark brown with a little bit of white here on their lips like I've got."

"But I loved seeing him when he'd come to visit because I didn't feel different when he was around. Also because he'd bring presents and things. It was never much, I mean, he's always been pretty frugal, but when you live in a place where almost everything - that's not an exaggeration - has to be imported, even a shitty comic book is fucking amazing. But after I turned ten, he came to live with us and I... I never really liked him as much after that." Pause for a smattering of laughter. Not much, maybe I need to work on how I deliver that line. "Don't think I don't love my parents. I do. I don't know _why_ , but that's probably a subject for therapy instead of a comedy club." Another bit of laughter. "I don't think we'd hang out if we weren't related, though. Because after he came to live with us, he went from being my papa to being my bosun. For a little background on that, a bosun is the ranking member of the deck crew on a ship, kind of like... think of him as the sergeant of all the regular sailors. Bosun is a shortened form of the word boatswain, because sailors hate pronouncing letters when they don't have to. To explain the term, boat means boat. I think we all know that. But swain is an old, old term that hasn't really lived on in our vocabularies. So I'll explain. Swain... means _asshole_."

I don't think I'll ever truly understand just what makes anyone laugh even a little bit at the shit that comes out of my mouth. There's probably some kind of weird social placebo going on besides just the drinking. Are folks more susceptible to jokes when they're in a comedy club? Because I would think that goes the other way. Anyone can tell a joke and be funny, but when you're paying them to be funny, wouldn't expectations rise? Oh fuck, I think I've been standing here quietly thinking to myself for too long. "...So that's why I don't call him my dad. And while I admit to being his son, I don't call myself his kid, because he didn't raise a kid. He raised a sailor. And I suppose I have him to thank for what success I've had so far, because as far as I know there are only two jobs where a man can swear as much as I do, and this is the other," I finish, gesturing around myself to the mysterious joy of my audience. "Thanks. I'm going to hand the stage off to the guy you actually _paid_ to see tonight, a big friend of mine - and I mean that literally - Norm Bunches."

I shuffle off the stage to sit with Audie as Norm thunders up behind me. "Hey y'all!" he laughs, taking a larger microphone from a separate stand. "I been havin' a weird night. Anyone else just stand by when someone calls your sister a ho? That’s upsetting. She’s holdin’ my nephew, lookin’ at me like, ‘Motherfucker, you just gonna _stand_ there for this shit?’ And I hate that look. So I give her a look back of my own, and my look says, ‘Girl, what you lookin' at me for? I ain’t gonna punch my own mama, maybe you a ho!’”

I sigh, furrowing my brow. "Fuck, you see that? _That's_ funny," I gripe, gesturing to Norm as the crowd roars. "I don't know why the fuck they're laughing at _anything_ I say."

"Well, yeah, he's been doing this for years longer than you. You're doing all right for how big of a fucking _baby_ you are." She pushes over the vodka tonic that's been waiting for me. "You don't seem to have any problem at all being on stage anymore, you just need to practice your delivery. Weird that you studied theater and you were so fucking scared up there before."

"This is different. I've been fucking _naked_ on stage before, multiple times, and that wasn't _anything_ like comedy."

She laughs, interrupting a lull in Norm's routine. Being a professional, though, he doesn't miss a beat. Audie puts her paws on the table and leans toward me. "Seriously? Holy fuck, _please_ tell me that's on video. How the hell could you have been naked on stage and _this_ is harder?"

"That's fucking easy," I explain, taking a sip of my drink. "When I was naked on that stage I was _someone else_. Up on this stage I have to be _me_ , and _I_ don't even like that fucker."


	60. Offerings

I rub my aching forehead, sipping on some overly-spiced rum as Chet scrolls through his emails. He hasn’t gathered us all to Giggles & Co. in a while, and the sense of anticipation in the room is palpable. For my part, I’d rather be sleeping, but I’m the only one here who has to be at work in under five hours. I sigh, thinking to myself as my colleagues chatter hopefully. At least I don’t hate my day job. That’s always nice, isn’t it? It’s not glamorous, and it doesn’t feed me as well as Fedor’s did, but Matsumoto keeps feeding me only little amounts of knowledge at a regular pace, making sure I absorb it all. The bastard’s tricking me into learning. Our fearless leader - by which I mean the guy who came up with this and who runs the ZooTube channel, he doesn’t actually place himself over us - finds what he’s looking for and clears his throat to beckon our attention.

“All right, everybody, let’s get this shit done with. Our subscriber count and our views keep rising even faster than we could have hoped, and that means we’re pulling in real money from ads and views now.” Cue tired applause from the rest of us. “So that’s awesome. We’re also getting a lot of requests for different kinds of videos, more information about ourselves, and I think we should have a stream soon where we answer some questions. Anyone opposed to that besides probably Reese?” he asks, smirking, as a few of us chuckle.

“Fuck your shit,” I reply, to a slightly larger laugh from the rest.

“Well I guess that passes, since nobody actually said anything _against_ it,” he laughs. “Audie’s been putting together a little website for us where we can put up our show schedules, and she was kind enough to write a nice little bio page about all of us. So give that a look to see what she’s made up about you.” Audie cackles menacingly. “And I don’t wanna keep us here long, so this’ll be the last one. We’ve actually received a few requests for interviews. No shit. Some other ZooTubers, mostly, but a couple actual TV shows as well, some local late-night shows probably none of us have ever heard of. And weirdly enough, I’ve had some company blowing me up trying to get Reese for some commercial work since that solo video dropped.”

“Are you _serious?_ ” I ask, incredulously. “Does no one in this fucking country understand fucking sarcasm?!”

“Well, I’ve had the ZPD make some inquiries as well about Clam Diggers, because that one _really_ fucking took off. Don’t worry, though, I sent them a copy of Harry’s original video and pointed out the time stamp, so you should be good.”

“Oh, great. Like I needed _more_ police attention in my life.”

“Look at it this way, Harry’s an accessory, so at least you’re not alone. And aside from the expected reaction from some religious nuts, the Viking video's drawn some criticism from women's groups for that line about the nuns."  
  
"Don't look at me, Audie wrote that line. I just translated it."  
  
"Guilty," Audie titters, raising a paw.  
  
Chet shrugs. "I'll let them know that when they write back. Do you guys have any questions or anything else we should know about?”

Norm raises a paw. “Uh, yeah, I been wantin’ to do a couple cooking shows or something. You think we could get that goin’? We can make it silly as shit, you know, it uh... damn, that sounded funnier in my head.”

Chet shrugs, offering an approving nod. “No, yeah, there are folks online who do cooking shows and make ‘em funny. Like I said, we've been getting a lot of fan questions, and it could be a good opportunity to answer a few. I’m sure we could do something like that.”

I raise a paw. “What kind of questions have folks been asking? Because if they’re stupid or personal, I don’t think I’m interested in that shit.”

“I’m not gonna lie, there are some _weird_ ones for you, but we can pick and choose which ones we answer. You really don’t have anything to worry about.” He claps his paws and looks around. “Anything else? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m freaking tired. Let’s get the hell out of here.” Each of us rises to leave, but Chet puts a finger on my shoulder once everyone else is out the door. “Hey... you know anything about Burrows Quality Casting?” he asks, crouching beside me.

Burrows... who the fuck is in the Burrows besides rabbits? It rings a bell, though. Burrows... wait. WAIT. Those FUCKERS. “Oh fuck, _those_ assholes? What the fuck do THEY want?!”

He pulls back slightly, nearly losing his balance. He doesn’t, since he’s a cat, and sometimes stereotypes are based on truth. “Oh shit, you do know them? They’ve been calling me for a week, saying they wanted to get in touch with you and that they’d worked with you before.”

“Yeah, THEY’RE the fuckers behind the fucking _Savage Spray_ commercial. You tell them to fuck off, tell them you’re my agent and I’m not interested, whatever you have to do. I’m not working with those assholes again.”

He hums. “Oh. All right, I just wanted to know if they were legit, because, uh... they’re offering a _lot_ of money to have you do a bunch of commercials as Beest.”

I laugh a single, staccato “HA!” as I shake my head. “ _Fuck_ that. You tell them they can have Beest for commercials when they pay me double the union rate, and only if _you’re_ directing,” I laugh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “And they have to pay you the same, and, uh... and there'd better be a fucking fresh-cooked lobster waiting for me. A whole one, not just the tail! The whole thing!”

Chet laughs. “Damn! All right, they’ll get the message if they’ve got any brains. Don’t worry about it, go get some sleep, man.”

 

The sound of a foghorn pulls me from a rare deep sleep, more precious to me at this point in my life than all the gold in this city and, to be honest, any amount of sex. Were I given the choice I’d take three more hours of sleep over _Genghis Khan_ amounts of pussy, but I just don’t have the time to sleep or a wizard who owes me a favor. I pick up my phone and squint, looking for the tiny spot that will dismiss my alarm, but instead find a pair of red and green dots under the name Fedor. My lip twitches slightly, exposing the tip of a bone-white fang, as I poke the green dot and bring the phone to my ear. I clear my throat gently and answer, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT? I HAVE TO WORK IN TWO HOURS!”

A low grumble answers. “Shaddap. I have job for you.”

I take a moment to let my brain catch up with my ears. “I don't know if you've forgotten, but I don’t _work_ for you anymore. And I don’t need to risk any illegal shit right now, so you can crawl through that drainpipe or whatever yourself.”

“Not that kind of job, _tupitsa_. I go straight, sell fish wholesale now, all legal catch. Less stress. But job your kind of work, entertainment at fundraiser. You interested?”

I rub a paw over my face, frowning. “Well... a couple questions. When’s this supposed fundraiser and what’s it pay? Because I have a day job, you know, and I can’t just run off to fuck around at a moment’s notice.”

“Fundraiser at eight tonight,” he grumbles. “Pays fifty dollars and all you can eat.”

I rub my brow and drag my paw down the side of my face, cursing internally. “Yeah... like I said, I have a job at four, so that’s not really going to work for me.”

“ _Sukin syn_... one hundred dollars and all you can eat?”

I sigh. “Okay, I didn’t know this was a negotiation, but I’ll play along. A hundred’s about what I make in an eight-hour shift before taxes, but we’re gonna have to take into consideration travel costs, preparation, last-minute scheduling fee...”

“SHADDAP! Fine, one-fifty! They feed you for free anyway, but I paying for talent, and still need to track down piece of shit who cancel at last minute to get back advance I pay him.”

I crack an eye open just to stare at nothing, in part to make sure I didn't just dream that fucking statement. “Hang on. You had this going on for how long, and you hired someone _else?_ What am I, chopped lettuce?!”

“ _Zatknis’! Bozhe, kakaya ty, blyad, bol’_.”

“I still don’t speak fucking _Russian_ , Fedor!” I rub my eyes, thinking. “Okay... let me call Matsumoto and see if I can take the night off. I’ll call you ba-“

“I call, he say it fine. Yo go in tomorrow, he manage tonight alone.”

I open my eyes and stare blankly for a moment. “Oh, thanks! You know, I didn’t think I could do that by my goddamn self. Thanks for going over my head regarding my own fucking schedule, Fedor! Hey, maybe since you’re so on top of things you can just tell the crowd how much they’ll enjoy my act and I'll catch up on some fucking sleep instead! You can mail me the check and tell me how good the food was, too. I mean, if you're just gonna do _everything_ for me.”

“Shadda-“

“No, _you_ shaddap. I’m going back to sleep, just tell me where the fucking show is and... I’ll fucking be there.”

“ _Etot chertov rebenok_... it at Otterdam Convention Center, fundraiser for sick kids. Fishermen’s Union, that why I involved.”

The Fishermen’s Union again? “What the fuck, last time you had me in front of them I fucking _killed_. Why the fuck did you try to hire some other fucking asshole?!”

“Wasn’t my goddamn idea! Came as recommendation, not my fucking choice. Motherfucker not going to work around here again, though.”  
  
I yawn, scratching my bare side. “All right, fine. Can I bring a plus one?”

He’s silent for a moment before sighing tiredly. “Yes, fine, sure. Who give a fuck? Just show up or I FIND YOU, okay?”

“Fine.” I hang up and call Audie. She answers, sleepily.

“Dude, this better be a goddamn emergency. If it's about a boner that just won't quit, just... handle that shit yourself, because I'm a little too fucking tired for a booty call.”

“No, this- it’s not a booty call. Can you call in sick tonight? Because I just got booked without my knowledge for a fundraiser this evening, and I want someone there to tape it.”

Silence. Then, a response. “Fuck, Reese, you couldn’t call Harry for this?”

“Harry’s out of his fucking _gourd_ right now, I think he and Norm have been smoking for hours. I mean, it definitely _smells_ that way. It’s not for another few hours, and the food's free. You in?”

She sighs. “Fine. Just... if I kick you in the nuts when I see you, don’t take it personal, okay?”

 

I lie back on the couch, ignoring the mad, stifled giggling coming from the smokehouse on the other side of the apartment, and begin to drift off to- SHIT, wait. I sit back up for a moment, disabling my usual alarm and setting another. All right... good to go. I lie down and close my eyes, letting my breath slow to a restful pace. The feeling starts at the tip of my tail; it’s a sort of floating sensation, with just a gentle tingle, like I’m slipping slowly into a bath of liquid sleep. The feeling creeps slowly up my body, submerging me to my toes, my knees, working it’s way up and all the way to my armpits as my conscious mind drifts away to an ethereal world of peace and relaxation.

Until my phone rings.

My eyes snap open and my mind fills with thoughts of murder. The first conscious thought I feel is that whoever this is, I don’t care what our relationship is, I’m finding this motherfucker and eating them alive. I grab my phone and turn it over in my paws, squinting angrily at the screen. I snarl, nearly spraining my finger as I jab it to answer, and growl into the microphone, “Chet, if this isn’t _incredible_ news, I’m going to kill you, I’m going to bury you in salt, and I’m going to eat little slices of you with mustard and onion for the rest of my fucking life.”

“...WOW, man, I think you’ve been listening to a little too much metal. But yeah, this is _kinda_ incredible. I called that casting company and told them what you... actually I told them _more_ than you said, just to be obnoxious, and... they want to write you a contract. Dude, they fucking _agreed_ to it.”  
  
I blink a few times, not comprehending anything he’s said. Wait... casting company. Rabbits. _Those fuckers_. Wait, they said yes?! What the FUCK! “Are you fucking serious?! What the hell did you tell them? Did you fuck it up? You fucking... you didn’t make it bad enough! Goddamnit, you should have made it _worse!_ ” I scream, pulling at the fur on my head.  
  
“Dude, DUDE, I fucking bent them _over_. I don’t know what the fuck they’re thinking - or who the fuck is paying them - but they didn’t even _pause_. They agreed to all of it, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I got you everything you told me to tell them, plus complete creative control _and_ some clause I made up about satirizing every commercial after the fact. They’re either stupid or desperate, and to be honest, I really think we should consider it.”

“Wh... wha... I...”

“...Use your words, dude.”

“Shut the fuck up. Just... just shut up. Are you serious? This is insane. There’s no fucking way I’m doing this.”

“Hang on. Reese, this is as public as publicity gets. I’m not just thinking of the lot of us, dude, this could put your face where everyone in the country can see it, and this could lead to _real_ acting work. A lot of film and tv actors start out in commercials, it’s not selling out, it’s just...” he sighs nervously, thinking. “This could be your break, man. You've got enough jokes about it, I know that's not something you don't want.”

I groan, rubbing my face. “Chet, I don’t want _this_ to be my break. And I don’t want to be known for fucking Beest! This soon after folks were actually going savage? There are still one or two of them in recovery, I- I can’t fucking do that! Not if I want to have a career outside of fishing and food service!”

“Reese, dude. Think about it, all right? This could be good for _all_ of us. You can do _anything_ with complete creative control. I’ll let you sleep now, but just... dude, promise me you’ll think about it, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah... all right.” I hang up, fall backwards onto the surface of the couch, and stare blindly toward the ceiling. Fuck. I didn’t want it to be like this. I _do_ want a break. I want _something_ , but not something like this. I wanted it to be something I’d accomplished. Something like a defining role, a bestselling book, or a hit production. Not fucking _this!_ Not the second-worst role I’ve ever... wait, third-worst. I forgot about the J.G. Wentwolf commercial. _It’s moi pot o’ gold, and oi need it now!_ I should apologize to the Irish people. That was a disgusting five seconds of screen time, and to do that to another people screwed over by the English? I should be on their side, but I needed to fucking eat that week, I needed the fucking _money_... I'm sure they'd understand after all that famine business. Fuck. Fuuuck. I’ll talk it over with Audie, I guess. She makes sense sometimes.

 

The bus hits a pothole big enough to feel through over thirteen tons of metal, and Audie's eyes bug out more than usual, but not because of the road. “Are you fucking nuts?!” she snaps, brandishing a fist in my face. “If you _don’t_ take that gig, I’m gonna beat the stupid out of you! But I want you to know it’s because I _care_.”

“Do you care that I don’t fucking _want_ to?” I whisper, casting a wary look through the bus. “I don’t really care _how_ much they want to pay me. I mean, yeah, I’ve done a couple commercials before because I was starving, but I fucking hated them more than anything else I’ve ever done in my life. That, and I really don’t want anything more to do with _Beest!_ ”

Audie scratches a cheek, yawning. “Dude, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen yourself, but you fucking _are_ Mr. Beest, especially with a little rum in you. Besides...” she sets a paw on my knee in what’s supposed to be comforting, but feels more like she’s waiting to break my legs based on her earlier threat. “If you have creative control, you can do them however you want. Make them _good_ or something.”

I remove my glasses and rub my brow for a moment, then replace them and place my paw gently over hers. “What I want... is to never appear in another fucking commercial as long as I live.”

She chuckles, swatting me with her free paw. “Cheese and crackers, for being so well-read you really are a dumbass. I say do the commercials. Creative freedom, good money, _and_ shit-talking rights? Dude, everyone’s gonna see these things, if they’re willing to pay that much! You can just do a few and fuck off to do actual acting work on tv or... or even Broadhoof, for fuck’s sake. Stop being such an artfag and sell out just a little bit, at least until you can afford a goddamn apartment, you stubborn douchebag! Have you FORGOTTEN that you’re homeless? It’s a _job_ , think of it that way if it helps. Everybody hates their job. This ragged bohemian starving artist shit you're living right now hasn't been in vogue for a thousand years.”

I stare blankly into the distance as I consider her words. “I would rather live in a hole and poach city pigeons.” I look into her eyes as I continue. “But you’d probably stop fucking me if I did that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes! Yes I would,” she nods, encouragingly. “Think with your dick for once, take the fucking job and we can share each other’s beds and you can cry on my shoulder as you mourn the death of your soul.”

We arrive at the Otterdam Convention Center and Banquet Hall, entering through one of the smaller doors before Fedor snatches me by the shirt and all but throws me onto the stage.

“Cheese and rice!” I complain, grasping the microphone. “Jeez, not even a drink before I go up, huh? This may not go so well, I prefer to be a little _relaxed_ when I come up here.” I look out at the excited, already half-drunk faces of my audience and think for a moment. “Fishermen’s Union, huh? We meet again. At least I hope that’s who you are. Sailors and fishwives I can deal with, because I’ll be honest, I got this job at the last minute and I didn’t have any time to clean up my act.” A dull roar of approval. This should be good. “So, sick kits, huh? Pretty good cause, right? They need help. God forbid you should vote for universal healthcare in this country - not that I vote, I’m not a citizen - but let’s get drunk and throw some money at ‘em, that’s how we deal with shit in Zootopia, right? Unless we're just beating the crap out of somebody, I think that's how we deal with... most things, actually.” Someone is kind enough to offer me... hmm... gin, it smells like. I take a sip and thank them. It’s definitely gin. “Thanks, I love you guys. You know, they actually told me about a few of those sick kits before I got here. One of them is just seven and he needs a new liver. A liver! I mean, wow, I thought _my_ life was rough. I didn’t start drinking until I was _nine!_ How bad are the schools in this town that he needs a liver already?”


	61. Deadliest Catch

I crack my eyes open, roll onto my side, and try not to barf. Unfortunately, like so many things in my life, I do not succeed, but but least I’m not on carpet. I straighten my glasses and rise to my feet, cursing the discovery of alcohol and running through the same argument in my head that I seem to with myself every couple weeks or so.

“ _Hey, fuckhead, stop drinking!_ ” says one part of me to another.

“ _Shut up, just leave me alone,_ ” groans the other. “ _I’ll be fine, man, just lower my voice, all right?_ ” He sits on a worn, wooden stool and clutches his head, leaning over a bucket.

“ _Just_ look _at me. Is this really how I want to live my life? Curled up like a prawn out of water, face buried in a bucket? Drinking is going to_ kill _me one of these days if I don’t fucking quit it!_ ” The angry, sober me kicks the bucket (fun AND poetic) and winces in pain, rubbing my foot as he tries to keep standing. “ _Seriously! Who drinks like this and lives?! Just... just fucking smoke or something, at least that takes longer to kill!_ ”

“ _The drinks were FREE!_ ” hungover-Reese cries, throwing my paws in the air. “ _What was I supposed to do? Perform_ sober??”

“ _Yeah, I fucking could have! Can I even remember the food I ate? The fresh fucking catch that I miss so much? There’s not even anything left in my stomach because I threw it all up! What am I, fucking STUPID?_ ”

I pull my glasses off and smack my forehead against a nearby wall in an effort to quiet the moronic and unproductive self-visualizations in my head. Rubbing my now even achier head and replacing my glasses on my snout, I take a deep breath and check my phone. Nothing worthy of note, just some spam email and some missed calls from credit companies that don't exist. Good. I don't want to do anything right now except put some water and salt into my body. Now, where am I? Audie's place? Looks like it. And I passed out in the kitchen, how convenient. I tug on the refrigerator door, heaving it open to look through the available provisions.

Ech... some kind of Chinese takeout, looks like sweet and sour beetles or something. What the hell is this, hummus? There's no label. I think there's protein in hummus. It tastes like ass, but it's still protein... hell, I'd _eat_ ass right now if I thought it would settle my stomach, but I don't think Audie would appreciate that kind of wake-up call. I pull the plastic tub out and set it on the floor. From the size of it, it's probably Billie's, but fuck her. Bitch threw away my fucking chicken before I was halfway done with it, it's time for some payback. I pull the lid off and immediately realize something's wrong. If this is hummus, I must be sick, because it smells edible. It almost smells like... cheap tuna? That's the worst thing anyone's ever done, if you ask me. Canned tuna is so bad even I won't eat it, and I'd eat _ass_. You saw that earlier, you're in my head for some fucking reason. Am I going insane? Who are you? How'd you get past the other two guys?

Fuck, stop thinking about weird shit. You need food, goddamnit, and this is close enough. I poke a finger into it, checking its texture. This definitely isn't hummus. Now that I can see it clearly, the color's all wrong. There's some kind of fibrous nature to this... I pluck a dollop from the congealed mass and inspect it, puzzling at its composition. Well... it doesn't smell like canned grasshoppers, so down the hatch it goes. Oh. OH. That's... I need to try another pawful of that. It's definitely tuna. It's not _good_ tuna, I was right about that, but whatever this sauce is, I think I could eat _anything_ with this sauce on it. Fuck. I can't stop eating it. I'm going to make myself throw up again. I replace the lid on its container and lie down on the floor, clutching my stomach, when Audie staggers in.

"WHAT THE FU- oh, it's you. Fuck you, get out of my way."

I roll my head, staring at her with unfocused eyes. "What the fuck's up your ass?"

"The worst fucking hangover I've ever had. Thanks for the opportunity, _asshole_. I think I'm gonna quit drinking, cheese and _crackers_ this is fucking horrible."

I raise a finger. "I can help you with that, but you have to promise to help _me_ do it, too. I can't fucking do this shit every week. I fucking hate drinking, and I want to stop."

She grimaces. "That sounds like _work_. I don't wanna do work."

"Shut the fuck up, you _love_ busting my balls. You do it every chance you get as it is, and this way... this way you'd get to feel superior, because you'd be helping me."

She scratches her side, yawning. "Yeah... yeah, I probably would. I get to fuck with you _and_ I get to feel smug about it? That's every girl's fucking dream right there," she chuckles, finally noticing the plastic tub. “Uh, that’s Billie’s tuna salad, dude. You might want to put that back.”

“You mean I just ate _salad?!_  How the fuck did she hide the vegetables?”

“Oh jeez,” she sighs, reaching up her shirt and scratching herself. “Well, how much did you eat? Maybe she won’t notice.”

“A few pawfuls,” I groan, rolling over and pushing myself to my feet. “But even if she notices, fuck her. She threw my goddamn chicken away.”

“I told you it was going bad, dude, it was stinking up the fridge!”

“It was NOT going bad, it was just starting to get good! Haven’t either of you _ever_ aged meat before? It takes a little time to develop flavors, and the smell is a part of the experience!”

“It just tasted like fucking _salt!_ Let me see in there,” she hisses, pulling the lid off the container and looking in with a groan. “Jeez... when you said pawfuls you really meant _pawfuls_.” She carefully smooths over the prints I’d left, re-sealing the tub and hefting it. “You wanna open the damn door? Thanks.” She slides it back onto the shelf it came from and looks to me as I close the door. “So how’d you make out last night?” she asks, digging through a nearby cabinet for a snack.

“Pretty fucking good. Got a hundred fifty for the...” I reach into my pocket and freeze when I feel no money. I check my other pockets, I find my shoulder bag and look in there, but I don’t see any money anywhere. Fuck. Did I miss it in my pocket? I reach back in and find something, pulling it out to investigate. Did Fedor write me a check or... this is not a check. Some brightly-colored tickets are all I find, and a brochure advertising... oh fuck. I drop slowly to my knees, staring at the cheaply-printed paper in my paws. “Oh no... no, I’m never fucking drinking again, I spent it all on FUCKING RAFFLE TICKETS. For FIFTY DUCKS APIECE, I spent all my pay PLUS FIFTY DOLLARS on this shit?!”

“Hey, take it easy, you’ll wake the fucking beast!” she whispers, pointing roughly in the direction of Billie’s door. “You spent your money on _raffle tickets?_ Seriously?”

“Shut up. Just shut up!” I growl, pacing the kitchen with my paws on my head. “First I throw up all the food, now I find out I don’t even have the fucking _money?!_ Just fucking slam my head in a door, I’m done!”

Audie groans, rubbing her forehead. I appreciate her concern, but whatever she's thinking if probably won't help. “Well, you know, you might have won something, it’s not all bad. Lemme see that flyer,” she says, picking up the various papers that I’ve thrown about the kitchen. I was right, she's grasping at straws in a pointless attempt at injecting positivity into my thought process.

“Fuck... fuck, I think I remember seeing a rod and reel on display, a _really_ good one. I can’t believe I did this... all my fucking money for a rod and reel, and for what?” I bark, looking to Audie as she stares at the sheet in her paws. “For what?!”

She swallows, shaking very slightly. “Uh, how’s a boat sound?” she asks, looking back to me and offering the prize sheet and a ticket. The grand prize of a pocket trawler is circled in marker, with the word ‘congratulations’ and a signature scrawled beneath it.

...Oh Njord. “I think I’m gonna throw up again.”

 

“Dude! You _won!_ ” Audie laughs, throwing her arms around me as I exit the bathroom. “See?! Life isn’t total shit, it’s just _kinda_ shit!”

I pry her off of me and clear my throat. “I have to get rid of this boat.”

She stares at me in silence for several seconds before raising a fist, slowly lowering it as she reconsiders. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I _can’t_ keep this boat! First off, boats aren’t free. Not even fr- ESPECIALLY not free ones. There are fuel costs, insurance premiums, and docking fees to say nothing of _maintenance_. And I’m gonna tell you right now, I know for a _fact_ that this boat is _cursed_.”

She blinks. She takes a deep breath and laughs in my face, hanging off my shoulder as she clutches her stomach. “Sorry... I’m sorry, it’s _what_ now?”

I swat her paw from my shoulder and snarl, “CURSED! If not the boat, then _me_. Every time something good happens to me, every time, something bad - and not just bad, but _disproportionately_ bad - happens immediately after. I do a good show, my van gets destroyed. I get a new job, my theater shuts down! Do I need to elaborate further?”

She shakes her head with a sigh, placing a paw gently upon my cheek. Her other paw, in a much less comforting act, slaps my opposite cheek. “You’re a dumbass. That’s not a _thing_ , that’s a bunch of dumb coincidences. Now, if you had said you needed to sell the boat to afford an apartment, _that_ would make sense. Or hell, sell it and buy another fucking van! Do whatever you gotta do, just... fuck's sake, Reese, a _curse?_ I thought you were on the giving end of those, not the target.”

I rub my cheek. Selling it... that’s a better idea than scuttling it, which was what I had in mind. Sink it as a sacrifice to whichever nonexistent deity has it out for me, see if that does anything... no, selling it is better. That way I can buy something else to sacrifice if I really need to. “I could sell it... okay, yeah, I know exactly who to call.”

“Ghostbusters, right?” she jokes.

“Hardy har har. No, I know a place where there’s ALWAYS someone looking for another boat." I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts, selecting my mother’s number. I wait as it rings, and answer, “ _Hej, mama. Er afi þar?_ ”

Audie watches curiously, trying to pick words out as I talk with my grandfather. She seems to enjoy the show, and my roller coaster of emotion causes her no lack of entertainment. I hang up, scratching my head, and she’s instantly all up in my business. “What’s going on? I don’t know what the hell you were saying, but I could see what you were feeling, and it was a fucking _trip_.”

I sigh. “Well... my granddad says nobody back home would even want to buy it. It’s too big for a pleasure craft and too small for a dedicated fishing boat, which is... it's an actual fucking fishing boat, I don't understand it. I don’t know what the fuck their problem is, but ten meters and twenty tonnes apparently falls into some dumbass ‘zone of undesirability.’ I thought I hated those fuckers already, but _this_...”

“Uh huh... wanna explain why you greet your grandpa with ‘HEY MOFO,’ or is that personal?” she asks, stifling a chuckle.

I groan. I don’t have time for a linguistics course, how quick can I make this? “Okay, so in languages similar to mine, the word for your mom’s dad is basically ‘mother-father.’ So when I learned the word mofo, it seemed like a fun little inside joke. I told him what it means, and he thinks it's hysterical. His only problem with it is that there’s no equivalent to call me.”

“Well that’s just adorable.”

"Adorable or not, he DID have another suggestion, and I like it a lot better than what either of us had in mind. Put a shirt on, we've got shit to do."

 

“Okay, no, you’ll have to run that by me again.” Audie follows me off the bus as I disembark, leading her - as if she would need my assistance - towards her own workplace.

“They’ll fucking pay for it. _All_ of it. My docking fees, my insurance, my freaking fuel costs! For once in my life, those fuckers I had to live with will be doing something _good_ for me.”

“You mean besides providing you the painful childhood that made you into an artist?”

“Yes, besides...” I sigh, realizing it’s a joke. “That’s not necessarily a _positive_. I could be doing pretty well as a fisherman out there in the middle of fucking nowhere, but nobody anywhere would know who I was once I died. Fishermen don’t have a lot of tales told about them once they’re gone.”

“Riiight, so you need someone to sing your praises after you're dead, or something?” I can tell she's restraining a mocking laugh at my expense. She certainly doesn't mean it the way I'm taking it, but when my head hurts this badly, I take everything poorly and she should know that by now. I think she actually knows that and does it anyway just to push my buttons.

“Yes. I mean, not out of conceit or anything, more out of spite. When I’m dead I want the memory of me to outlast that of anyone else from that place because _that_ is true revenge.”

She blinks a few times, processing the profound nature of my desire. “Wow. Okay, _Genghis._ ”

"It's a much bigger deal where I'm from." I lead her into the store and she points me to a computer, waiting as I pull up my email account to get what I’m after. PDFs of ship registration forms straight from Lundøye, typed up in short-twig Futhark and pretty much illegible to anyone else in the world for no reason but deliberate contrarianism. Granddad was thoughtful enough to put together all the forms I need sent, nothing unnecessary. All I have to do is fill in a few blanks, pick out a name, and sign on the dotted line before I scan and send the copies back. I can’t help but feel there’s something I’m missing, but this is my _granddad_. He’d never do me wrong, he loves me more than my own parents do for fuck's sake!

I fill out the few forms. I say few because, as we don’t have a lot of clerks back home, it’s all quite streamlined. Convenient, too, since the entire economy depends on fuckers having boats. Fishing is all there is. It may net Lundøye a disproportionately high GDP these days, pun intended, but it's entirely fair that we charge a significant price for our exports. After all, for the last thousand years or so we’ve been getting the shitty end of any trade deal made with the asshole Christians on the mainland, and now it's payback time! But we have the best seafood in the world, they're _lucky_ to get the price we charge. We could charge more and they'd just have to fucking pay it.

Having finished my paperwork, I thrust the documents into Audie’s paws, watching her expectantly. “Cheese and crackers, dude, cool it. You’re not even gonna _read_ these?” she asks, heading for the least-temperamental scanner.

“Hell no. My granddad knows what he’s doing, he’s done this a dozen times.”

“Well, all right,” she sighs, beginning to scan the sheets. “Nice that you can finally get something back, though.”

“Right?! Fuck them, this time _I’m_ doing the taking. After all the shit they put me through, I’ve earned it.”

“Pretty cool that they’ll pay for all that, though! I guess it’s not as shitty as you make it sound.”

I shake my head. “Oh, no. I admit I’m biased, but aside from the scenery, the history, and the food, it’s fucking _dull_. There’s literally nothing to do there but sleep, fish, and fuck.”

She blinks a few times and stares at me. “Isn’t that, like, most guys’ dream?”

“You’d think that, but eventually I need something else to do or I’ll go insane. But since the economy is entirely based on fishing, and there’s so few folks there that it’s basically one big co-op, there’s a lot of support for fishermen. It’s a GREAT place to be a fisherman, just not so much an artist.”

She finishes scanning and lets me email the forms back to my mother, breathing a relieved, if tired, sigh. “Well, there you go,” she says. “You can pay me back for this shit on your next payday you broke, drunk fuck.”

“ _Pay_ you? With the mood I'm in right now, I could _kiss_ you.”

She gives me an odd look. “I’m kind of your girlfriend, dude, do you think you need a _reason?_ ”

I shrug. “I mean, I'm pretty sure I still taste like barf. I’m thinking of your comfort, you know.”

“Fair enough,” she laughs, taking my paw in hers as she leads me back to the bus stop.

 

I scratch my head as I exit Matsumoto's, swapping my work hat for my now-trademark mariner's cap. I know Audie bought it for me as a joke, but it's kind of grown on me. And now, I suppose, I may have a reason to wear such a thing. My own boat... I always dreamt I'd have a boat of my own, obviously, but I never thought it would come to me under such strange circumstances, much less this soon. If I'd stayed back home, sure, I'd have had one by now, but that's assuming I didn't kill myself out of boredom. ...You know what, I want to see it. I want to see _Þorfriðrs Hégómi_ , as I decided to name her. It's customary back home to name your first boat for your mother, so _Thorfrid's Folly_ seemed a good choice. I'm not sure if Audie was more offended by the meaning or confused that Thorfrid is a woman's name, but that's none of her goddamn business, is it?

I spend the better part of two hours sitting around, reading maps, and trying not to touch the pee-soaked parts of multiple bus and train seats as I slowly make my way... holy  _fuck_ it's hot... as I slowly make my way to the Canal District. How is it this goddamn hot?! Cheese and rice, I've been through Sahara Square at this time of night, and it was fucking fine! Is it the humidity? Why is it in the Canal District, anyway? Why not one of the actual fishing ports all around this city? Fuck, I can’t deal with this heat. But I won’t turn around now. I’m gonna see this fucking thing even if I collapse from heat exhaustion once I get there! And even if this boat is cursed, and one of my friends dies - I've been trying to figure out what evil is headed my way, and that's honestly what I expect to happen - at least I’ll have a boat to cry on. Isn’t that how the joke goes? Better to be crying on a boat than in a shitty apartment? Something like that.

I arrive at the marina, though it really isn’t much of one. It's just a bunch of rickety little platforms tethered to the side of a canal. I climb up to the window of the tiny office, tapping on the glass. The skinny jaguar attendant wakes up and stares blankly at me as his eyes slowly focus. He slides the window open and asks, “Uh, hey bro. Can I help ya?”

I nod, slumped over and gasping for breath in the oppressive heat, “Yeah... yeah, I’m here for the, uh...” I look at the prize sheet to double-check my boat’s former name. “I’m here for the _Unsinkable 2_.” Shit, I like that. That’s pretty fucking funny. Seems to be tempting fate, though, and sailors tend to be a bit superstitious.

“Ohh, yeah, the charity boat, right? Good, okay. We had a couple guys complaining about it, so you’re fine to take it. Here, lemme get ya the keys.” He disappears for a moment and returns with some keys and a sheet to sign for the Fishermen’s Union. “Just have to check your ID and all that. The slip is paid through the end of the week, so ya don’t really have to take it away right now, but there’s a lot of guys calling it an eyesore and they keep bugging me about it.”

I hand him back his pen and scoff. “Well if they give you any more shit, tell them to shove it up their asses. It’s my boat now and if the slip's paid for they can go _fuck_ themselves.” He nods in agreement, sliding the window closed as he goes back to his nap.

I walk along the canal, wondering just how goddamn long this fucking marina is. Seriously, did they lease the entire length of the fucking canal? Once in a while I cast an indifferent glance towards the boats moored along its length, if for nothing else, to try to distract myself from the goddamn heat. A fancied-up barge here, a way-overpriced houseboat there, with a fiberglass sailboat sprinkled in every so often. A sailboat? In the fucking _Rainforest_ District? There’s no goddamn wind here! Sure, each one has an outboard, but it’d take forever to get out where there’s even a whisper of wind. Bad enough that they're all butt-ugly, besides.

I finally find slip forty-two. There, moored along the edge of the canal, floats lone trawler among liveaboards and pleasure boats, looking like an aging fishwife in the middle of a black-tie party at a yacht club. She’s not gonna win any awards for her looks, but beneath the faded paint and rust stains she’s got the strong lines of a work boat, and out of all the vessels I’ve seen in my time here she’s the only one I’d expect to ride out a North Atlantic shitstorm and come out afloat.

Her foremast stands tall but holds no sail; the boom near its base is for loading and unloading cargo and catch. The a-frame mast over her wheelhouse supports two similar outriggers on either side, perfect for spreading nets or dragging lines. The foremast could possibly raise a small stabilizing rig, though I’m certain she doesn’t boast enough keel for any sailing that’s not straight downwind. To repeat my earlier thought, she won’t win any awards for her looks.

But that doesn’t mean she’s not one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, and she’s mine.

 

I climb aboard and walk her deck. Solid wood, a little old, but still sturdy and offering good traction. Her hull and house are steel, judging by the russet stains running down from her portholes and hardware. With a trembling paw I unlock the door on the starboard side of the wheelhouse and can't muster the courage to breathe as it creaks softly, swinging slowly into the cabin. Oh fuck, _otters_. This boat was outfitted for fucking otters! If the lingering smell didn’t make it clear, the scale of the controls is proof of it! Everything's just slightly bigger than I'd like it, but fuck, I can stretch!

I leap inside, practically skipping with glee as I laugh and scream like a Christian child on a certain winter solstice holiday their ancestors stole from pagans. “There's a table!” I cry, loudly, to an audience of nobody. “Cabinets! CHARTS!” I swing a cabinet open and gather a dozen rolled-up charts in my arms, throwing them into the air in a fountain of paper tubes. “A WHEEL!” I leap down the ladder to the lower deck, shrieking with laughter. “BUNKS! LOCKERS!” I open a narrow door and shut myself inside, shouting out to nobody, “I FOUND THE HEAD!” 

My joyful prancing is brought to a sudden halt. The piercing two-tone of a bosun’s whistle shrieks from my phone, sending a shudder all the way from the nape of my neck to the tip of my tail. It howls its haunting call again, and I slowly draw my phone and raise it to my ear. “Hello?”

My father answers in his earth-shaking baritone. “Good on you, boy! I never thought I'd see the day you'd sign up for the Fishery Defense, but I'm proud to see you've found your call to duty!“

I cut him off, confused not only by his words but by the positivity in his voice. “Whoa, whoa. Proud? If this is about the boat, I won it in a raffle and I bankrupted myself to buy the tickets. And you’re _proud_ of that? You know what, who the fuck are you? What the hell have you done with my _real_ father, you sick bastard?”

He laughs, and I shudder again. Don’t get me wrong, I love him - _somehow_ \- but this is Commodore Stiff-Upper-Lip on the phone, and he’s creeping me the fuck out right now. “It’s absolutely about the boat, lovely boy!” Does he mean that sincerely? It sounds weird the way he just said it. He’s only ever called me a 'lovely boy' sarcastically. “To think you’re halfway ‘round the world and you’d volunteer your own vessel! Granted you won’t be any use on the patrol roster, but we’ve got a few ideas for you, have no doubt about it, my boy.”

WHAT?! NO. FUCK NO. “What the fuck are you TALKING about?! I never volunt- have you lost your goddamn mind? What the hell makes you think I’d give my time to the fucking _Fiskþjofvorðr?_ You can go fuck your _hat_ if you think I’m-“

“BOY,” he shouts, having instantly set his patience aside. Unfortunately I haven’t broken myself from freezing when he yells that. “I have in my paw _your_ signature on multiple forms, registering your boat as a vessel of Lundøye and yourself as its captain. Not only that, but I have here a form stating your consent to lend your vessel as required by law to the protection of our way of life!”

I... oh fuck. "He got me... he fucking GOT me!!" I yell, clutching my head as I try to think of a way out of this. "Fuck! That- that signature's no good! I was hungover, I wasn't... I DIDN'T READ the goddamn thing! Granddad just sent them over to me, told me he knew all the forms I'd need, and said... that motherfucker... he said I didn't need to worry about reading them..."

I hear my father slowly start to chuckle. "Oh, bloody hell... get you he did, lovely boy. But you ought to know from your schoolin' that," he clears his throat, "'Any vessel of greater than eight metres in length and ten tonnes of displacement, excepting those outfitted for regular fishing duty, shall be volunteered to serve the greater interests of Lundøye and its people and her captain commissioned as an officer in the Fishery Defense.'" This is one hell of a time to discover that my people don't know what the word 'volunteer' means.

"Noooo," I groan, pitifully. "What- what the fuck? I'm thousands of kilometers away. I'm halfway to the other side of the goddamn globe, why the hell would he do this? I mean, yeah, I know he's basically a trickster god made flesh, but why the fuck would he have me sign up for this shit?!"

He pauses to think, lowering his tone to a less terrifying volume. "Well, Reese, I reckon he was lookin' out for you. As a volunteer of the Fishery Defense your food, fuel, and docking expenses while on duty will be covered by the profits from our own fishery."

I'm trembling. Goddamnit, he's halfway around the world and I'm twice his size, but I feel like a fucking child. "Look, pop... I just needed a home, he didn't tell me there'd be a _catch_. I just figured after all the shit I took growing up there, I'd earned... I figured I'd earned it."

His voice drops from a fierce roar to a smooth, buttery bass. The kind of terrifying calm that makes you think a storm’s about to hit. “Well, what’d you think, boy? That we’d pay your bloody way for free?" I swear I hear a quiet chuckle. "No. No, son, you’s brighter than that. You should know as well as anyone that there's no free lunches to be had.”

"You're fucking kidding me."

“You will mind your language towards a superior officer, boy! Were I there, I’d-“

I snap. “Were you here I’d throw you through a fucking window!” Goddamnit. I'm not proud of that, but then again, what have I done that I  _am_ proud of? This is the switcheroo of the fucking century, and it's so fucking obvious in hindsight that I have a pretty strong urge right now to bludgeon myself with the cargo boom.

“DON’T YOU TEST ME, BOY! If I spoke to my dad like a sailor I’d be picking my bloody teeth off the decksole!”

"Good thing for me, then!" I scream in response, my fur bristling as I shake with anger. "I never had a dad, I just had a bosun! Since you didn't know how to raise a son you just trained a sailor, isn't that what you did? Big surprise that I've got a sailor's mouth! Mission accomplished, asshole."

He's quiet for a moment. Did I hurt his feelings? Is such a thing possible? “Do you really feel that way, Reese?”

I cover my face with my free paw and sit on a bunk. Goddamnit, he does have feelings. I didn't want to _hurt_ the old bastard. "Shut... just shut up. I wrote a joke about it last week, so... thanks, I guess."

He sighs. "Son... we know you's strugglin' out there. It's your bloody life to live, and I may not agree with it but if you want to be a theatre poof, that’s your choice.”

I blink. “Wow. How progressive of you. Now can you do it without the slur, or-“

“Shut up. Take the bloody commission, son. Lundøye will pay for your docking fees, your fuel, your food... and all you’ll have to do for it is make a menace of yourself.”

"I'm sorry, what?"

I hear him groan and sigh, backed up by the sound of a creaking desk chair as he sits down. "Well, the other commodores and I have been thinkin' up duties for you. We'll likely have you patrolling on a monthly basis, but what the others see in you is an opportunity to cause headaches to Kalmar's consul in the city."

"No. Not just no, but  _hell_ no! Do they want me to get deported?! I'm here on a fucking visa and I've got enough trouble as it is!"

"Word has it the consul's a Dane."

I sit up straight, raising my free paw to massage my brow. "Fuck... okay, I'm listening, but... under protest."


	62. The Ship of Thesenuts

“Holy shit!” Audie laughs, shaking. “I can’t believe he’s eating it!”

Norm shrugs. “You ever _look_ at my fat ass? My mama know how to cook, ain’t nobody I ever met who don’t like one of her recipes.”

I can’t fucking digest this shit, I know I cant, SO WHY CAN’T I STOP EATING IT? Why am I eating fucking _cabbage?!_ “TAKE IT AWAY,” I gasp, pushing the plate away from myself. “That’s... I don’t know what that is, but it can’t be fucking healthy!”

“Dude, it’s just coleslaw, it’s cabbage and mayonnaise. It’s not _crack_ ,” Chet chuckles.

Audie clutches her sides. "It's the mayonnaise! I caught him eating Billie's tuna salad the other day, it's the fucking _mayonnaise!_ " Billie sneers, looking between Audie and myself with a betrayed look on her face.

Oh fuck... I can already feel my body rejecting it. I don’t eat green things, they make me... oh FUCK. I scramble to Norm’s bathroom, having taxed my stomach to the point of open rebellion. I return shortly, wiping my face with a washcloth that I can only HOPE is clean, and take my seat at the table. “Your mom’s a fucking witch, Norm. Nothing made of vegetables should taste... _good_.”

The table erupts in laughter. I expected as much, since something bad happened to me. That always seems to set these fuckers off. Billie, the only other one who isn't laughing, stops eating and stares at me. “ _Please_ tell me you’re not gonna keep eating after you just barfed, you gross little asshole.”

“The fuck you think I’m gonna do? I’ve got an empty stomach and I need to get this taste out of my mouth. I’m doing shit Roman-style tonight, vomitorium included, now someone bring me some fucking wine.” The table breaks into laughter again with the exception of Billie, who drops her fork and pushes her plate away.

Harry looks at the camera, apparently feeling the need to explain a few things for our viewers. “Okay, for those of you who’ve never lived with him - it’d be super weird if any you had - Reese doesn’t like any fruits or vegetables unless they’re in _booze_ form, and even then he’s a picky little shit,” he laughs, shoveling another forkful of macaroni into his mouth.

“Hey, if we’re gonna make this a regular thing, you’re all fucked when it’s my turn,” I threaten, pointing a fork around the table.

Audie grimaces. “Uh, I don’t know about that, dude. After that bulgy-can fish you ate, I don’t think I trust you to not poison all of us.”

Chet nods hesitantly before looking into the camera. “Yeah, uh... hey, for our safety, I’m gonna have to ask all of you watching to _please stop now_. I don’t want to know what she’s talking about, so if you could just go watch one of our other videos so this one doesn’t succeed, that’d be cool.”

Billie laughs sarcastically. “Great! If you don’t cut that part out it’ll guarantee everybody’s gonna demand more of these.”

Norm finishes his plate and starts serving himself... thirds, I think. “Man, y’all bitches. I’ll try _anything_ once,” he giggles, giving me a wink.

“Okay! You can eat whatever rotten fish he comes up with,” Audie snarks, smiling. “But if he brings that... whatever the shit is where they bury a shark that’s been peed on or whatever, I’m not donating to your funeral costs.”

I force down a mouthful of cheese and pasta, hoping my mild lactose intolerance will counteract the cheese and starch and allow me to shit tomorrow. “That’s Icelandic, Audie, that's not even my culture. But I’ve had it, and it’s _delicious_.”

Billie pushes her chair from the table, followed shortly by Chet. “All right! Guess I’m done fucking eating, thanks for letting me know _pee shark_ exists.”

Chet pulls his chair back up, setting a laptop next to his plate. “Well, since some of us are done eating now, maybe we can answer some viewer questions, how about that? Some mental images we all want to get out of our heads after that. Let’s find one for Norm, since he’s hosting us tonight. Okaaay. _DingusKhan1337_ wants to know, ‘man how Norm get so fuckin fat.’ ...I think he already answered that, actually.”

Norm looks at the camera. “You for real, mammal? I smoke nip, my _mama_ smoke nip, and she a hell of a cook. How the fuck am I supposed to be skinny?” he giggles, putting more food in his face.

“Yeah, let’s not forget your favorite hobby is ‘not moving,’” Chet chuckles, searching for another question. “All right. Here’s one for Audie, _sixsixsicknasty_ wants to know ‘what the hell is up with that chick’s eyes, she looks like a furry chameleon.’”

Audie slaps her paws on the table. “SHIT, I’VE BEEN FOUND OUT!” she cries, leaping from her seat and hiding for a moment before climbing back up. “Yeah, I know I look a little goofy, _dick_. You should see my dad and brothers though, their peripheral vision is unbelievable.”

Chet chuckles. “Don’t you actually have a bit about being a lizard or something?”

“Hell yeah I do! I don’t know if anyone else trolls conspiracy blogs, but apparently there are folks who think ferrets, martens, and all us weasel species are actually reptiles wearing furry suits. So yeah, sure. I’m a fucking tree chameleon. Asshole.”

“Reese!” Chet announces, “This next one is for you. Viewer _howl_at_the_goon_ wants to know, uh... that's weird, ‘wtf wrong with daisy, why don’t she want that catsby dick, dude is rich af.’ I really hope you know what that's about, because I don't.”

I sigh, realizing I probably know _exactly_ who wrote that. (I also know they're too young to be watching this fucking channel...) “Okay, first off, I don’t get paid to tutor. And second, read the fucking book! She _wants_ his dick. What, did you just skim it looking for a sex scene, you little pervert?”

I don’t know if it’s my answer or the fact that I actually answered, but Audie falls out of her chair laughing. Chet blinks a few times and asks, “Uh, okay, I actually need that one explained to me.”

“Okay, I was... I kinda got tricked into doing some substitute teaching a while back because the schools here are SO well-funded. And if anyone sees this it’ll pretty much guarantee they never call me back in again, so... you know what, I’m okay with that. I’m not a good teacher.”

Chet nods slowly. “Well I guess that explains all these questions about Shakesheare.”

“Oh goddamnit... ZOOGLE! You kids know how to _Zoogle_ shit, right?!” I ask, glaring into the camera. “There are a lot of folks who’ve spent a LOT more time studying this shit, and they can give you a much better explanation than I can. Zoogle it.”

 

I sigh, climbing onto the bus-stop bench as Harry and Audie follow me - against my wishes, to be honest - towards my sanctum. It wouldn’t be as much of a bother if they weren’t constantly jabbering! Goddamnit. I worked a full shift this evening and sat through several hours of shooting as Norm cooked for and fed us, unable to take a nap even if they’d have allowed it. I’ve been up for a while, is what I’m saying. I’m ready for some fucking peace and quiet. At least I’ve found a marina where I won’t die just by being outside, anyway. It may be dangerous for me to hang out in Tundratown, but I greatly prefer the weather there, especially with my winter coat coming in, and the slip rental is the cheapest in town.

“Hey. Did you assholes bring sweaters like I told you to?” I ask, shutting them up instantly.

“Yeah bro, way ahead of you,” Harry answers, pulling on a grungy-looking band hoodie. With all the extra insulation he’s got, he'll probably be fine with that.

I look to Audie and twitch as I see her pull a familiar sweater from my own goddamn shoulder bag. “What the hell, am I your personal pack mule or something?”

She shrugs, pulling it over her head. “What? I don’t carry as big a purse as you do, and you didn’t even notice it, so what’ve you got your panties in a twist for?”

I rub my brow, finding no valid reason aside from the slightest invasion of privacy. “All right, goddamnit, just ask next time you put things in there.”

She chuckles. “Yeah, all right, Fish Can Joe. Been homeless so long you’re starting to get real precious about your bag?”

“For your information, no. I’m just _paranoid_ , which is a perfectly reasonable state of mind in this fucking city. And I'll have you know I _know_ some of the homeless around here, so don't you start shit. They don't need any attitude.”

Harry scratches his belly, checking the electronic display above us. The damn things are on every bus stop, and I’ve yet to see a single one correctly estimate the actual arrival time of the next bus. “So explain this shit again. They just fuckin' _gave_ you a boat?”

“Nah, he won it in a freaking _charity_ raffle. Shit! Did I tell you how he thought it was cursed?”

“Hey, maybe shut up for a minute,” I gripe, leaning back on the crappy plastic bench. Wouldn’t you think they could pick a material that doesn’t make all your fur stand up? City full of fur-covered folks, let's use plastic benches so we can power public transport off fucking static electricity. Probably the mayor's brother-in-law owned a plastic plant or something, this corrupt hellhole...

Harry grins. “I wanna hear all about that,” he chuckles, leaning closer to Audie.

“Okay, so we both wake up and we feel like complete shit, right? Normal post-drinking conversation ensues: I gotta quit drinking, I gotta quit drinking too, I’ll help you if you help me. You know, the usual crap that never sticks until you wake up in bed with a lizard,” she describes, summarizing well enough. “I ask how he did and he starts searching his pockets for his pay, and the look on his face...” she kisses her fingers, “I’m sorry, Reese, but it was delectable,” she giggles, rubbing my shoulder affectionately. “Just a deep, dark cavern of horror and disappointment. And then he found the _tickets._ ”

Harry is stifling laughter by this point, mostly at Audie’s story, but I can’t discount the possibility that he’s watching my ever-deepening scowl and finding joy in my discomfort. But that’s what I do, I guess. I make my friends feel better by feeling worse than they do. It’s not an easy job, nor is it glamorous, but it’s honest work and I suppose it keeps me from dying of loneliness.

“Oh, he was pissed. PISSED! See, he was paid one-fifty for his act, and the tickets were fifty each. He bought _four_.” She pauses as Harry tries to catch his breath. “And aside from that, he was bummed that he didn’t win some dumb fishing rod.”

All right, I think I need to step in here. “I wasn’t _bummed_ , I was upset that I broke the bank on fucking raffle tickets!” I rub my brow and huff, adding, “And it wasn’t 'some dumb fishing rod.' It was a fucking Thorsen Blue Water Mark VIII rod and reel combo.” Oh, great. Now they're _both_ laughing.

The bus arrives only four minutes late, which is the best I’ve ever seen. Why can’t they be this close when I need to get to work? Fucking incompetents. We climb aboard to begin the long journey all the way across town, and Harry gets it in his head to ask more goddamn questions.

“So I heard something about your grandpa, is your family paying your bills or what?”

“ _Hell_ no.”

“Oh, dude, there’s no shame in it, I was just curious. My mom helped me when I was startin’ out, and-“

“No, not that kind of hell no, I mean...” I grunt softly, unwilling to even think about - much less explain - the shit I’m involved with. “Okay. So I’ve told you guys there’s nothing there but fishing, right? I mean, there are some folks who do other things besides, and some of them are actually pretty smart, but the economy is almost one hundred percent fishing.”

“Yeah. Yeah, to be honest, you’re almost one hundred percent _fish_ , so that makes sense,” Audie snickers.

“Shut up. Despite that, it’s not all fishing boats up there. We... fuck. I guess it _is_ ‘we’ now. Anyway, we operate a small fleet of boats, mostly armed trawlers, to drive off anyone who thinks they’re gonna go fishing in our waters. That's our livelihood and our fucking food source, you know, the sea surrounding us up there is the only reason we're alive. Plus, if you lived near the best goddamn seafood in the world, you’d get a little protective, too.”

They both stare at me for a moment before Harry asks, “All right, I’m listening. What’s that got to do with you?”

I pull my glasses off and rub my eyes. “My granddad... my granddad fucking tricked me into signing up for the _Fiskþjofvorðr_. Fish Thief Guard is the basic translation. I mean, OBVIOUSLY I’m not about to sail off to patrol our fucking fishery, but while my boat and I are ‘volunteered,' or more accurately _press-ganged_ into service, they’ll pay for my food, fuel, docking fees, and any repairs I need.” I set my glasses back on my snout and slouch on my seat, bouncing a little less as the bus turns onto the smoother roads outside the historically-pred neighborhood.

“... _Whaaaaat_ ,” Audie mutters, locking onto me with her cock-eyed gaze. Is it weird I think her weird-ass stare is kind of endearing? Maybe I'm just really fucking tired.

“Bro, that’s fucking awesome,” Harry laughs, reaching over Audie to post up for a high-five.

“I’m gonna have to leave you hanging on that, Harry,” I sigh, “because not only is it _not_ awesome, it actually gets worse. As far as I’ve heard they’re gonna have me pulling shit just to piss off the consulate because if there’s one thing we love as much as fish, it’s pissing of the Christians." I pause for a moment. Maybe I should explain that loaded sentence. "I mean, uh... that came out wrong. I mean the mainlanders. We just call them ‘the Christians’ because it’s easier. It’s not religious bigotry or anything, we just... well, we _do_ hate them, but not  _because_ they're Christians. We have valid historic cause, and besides, they call us trolls, so it’s not just one-sided."

After a few seconds Audie snorts with laughter. “Well I guess you’ll show THEM! Nothing like trolling folks to prove you’re not trolls, right?”

Harry sees the unintended hilarity as well, slapping his thigh as he shakes and wobbles. “That’s fucking nuts, bro! What’re you gonna do? Shake down some freighters, maybe raid a church or two?”

I shrug, ignoring the obvious joke at my heritage. “I don’t fucking know. To be honest, I don’t _want_ to know. As long as they don’t expect me to mount a cannon or something I think I should be safe from deportation... fuck, do you think I should look for a lawyer? I mean, they could revoke my visa if I get in too much shit, I don’t want that.”

Audie pats my head patronizingly. “Oh, relax. If your family’s involved they’ll probably keep that in mind.”

“You don’t even know. The policy back home on warning shots is 'ammunition costs money, so shoot to hit.' We don’t even have our own diplomats, we’re represented internationally by the Kalmar Union, so I'm basically being set out to piss off my only fucking advocate in this city. And even though we're usually in the right when we sink or seize foreign ships, we already cause them a lot of headaches. My dad being one of the idiots in charge doesn't make me feel any better. He fucking came up with the warning shot policy."

Harry looks at me quizzically. “You sure know a lot about this shit, bro.”

I shrug again. “No more than anyone else. I was in it for a while, not by choice, but because everyone has to.”

“No shit?! Dude, I never pictured you as the navy type!”

“I’m fucking NOT. You think I would have joined if I had the choice? It’s a requirement, and it fucking _sucked_.”

Audie, sensing buttons to be pressed, inquires further. “Okay... so what’d they make you do?” she asks, biting her lip. Clearly, she expects something to laugh at.

I groan, closing my eyes. Maybe if I just let it out this will be over sooner. In an effort to calm myself, I take a deep breath. “Well, because I was the biggest one there, they had me move all the heavy shit, sometimes just to keep me busy. They'd have me carry things all over just to put it back where I fucking _found_ it. I’ve told you they all hate me there, right? Then when I was worn out from that they’d have me translate operating manuals because I ‘like to read so much,’ and when my paws were fucking bleeding and broken from the fucking typewriter they’d send me to the tallest, windiest cliff on all the islands with a shitty telescope because I was tall and they claimed I’d be able to see the farthest. What they wanted was for the wind to blow me off and onto the rocks.” I open my eyes and stare back into hers, seeing tears of laughter barely contained by years of practice. “Is that enough of an explanation? I just told you way more than I wanted to because I don’t _ever_ want to talk about that again.”

She nods, biting her lips to keep from laughing. Harry, however, has fewer scruples in his big fat body and will gladly step in to bust my balls where she gives pause. “So if they _do_ make you put a gun on your boat, are you gonna shoot somebody?” He chuckles, waiting for an explosion.

Unfortunately for him, I’m not in an explosive mood. I think it might be the medication. Maybe it’s just a placebo effect, but I think I’ve felt just a little calmer since starting that. “Well, Harry, I might try to shoot you for asking me that fucking question, so consider yourself lucky I’m a lousy shot.”

 

We make our way through the city, jumping from bus to train and train to bus as we near our destination. What started as idly looking out the window to avoid Harry and Audie’s bitching about the cold has slowly grown into full-blown paranoid staring as I try to figure out how many of the mammals I see are mafia plants and which ones are likely to fucking kill me if they see me. Fuck, just let me make it to the marina! I’m safe there. That’s where the fishermen hang out, and they freaking love me, the few I’ve met make that apparent every time they see me. I'm starting to think they don't have much entertainment available to them aside from the dockside bars and strip joints.

I feel a paw on my shoulder and shriek, whirling around with my teeth and claws bared as Audie leaps into the air. “OH FUCK. Shit... sorry, I was... I was just thinking about something.”

“Cheese and _fuck!_ You scared the shit out of me, Reese!” she replies, peeking at me from the other side of Harry’s gut. “I just wanted to know how _close_ we were, you lunatic!”

“...Oh. Uh, yeah, we’re... we’re getting close.”

“Holy shit, dude, what was that?" Harry asks, plucking Audie's clawed fingers from his sweatshirt. "That was fucking _intense_ , I almost thought you were gonna kill us or something."

"It's fucking nothing!" I bark, settling back onto the seat. "I was just startled, I'm... I'm a little on-edge here, just don't go creeping up on me, all right?"

Audie climbs over Harry to take her previous spot and punch me in the shoulder. "Dude, is this about the damn fish shop? You think they actually came for _you_ and not your sketchy-ass mob-connected boss?!"

"HE told me to avoid Tundratown! If anyone would know what they're talking about, don't you think it'd be the sketchy mob-connected guy?"

She scoffs. “If you've got your face all fixed to be crazy, then look at it this way: if the mob tries to come for you, the cops will probably know about it since you think _they’re_ watching you, too.”

“Fuck you,” I grumble, pulling the cord as we near convenient intersection. I lead my two closest friends from the bus, swiveling my head constantly.

I hear Audie whisper to Harry behind me. There’s something in her tone, it’s hard to place, but I expect it’s how a kid would sound telling a joke in church. Obviously I wouldn’t know how that sounds, but I’ve heard kids tell jokes in class and I imagine it’s similar. “Holy shit, Harry, look at his ears right now,” she giggles.

I whip around to give her a nasty look, which just causes them both to laugh. “Fuck!” Harry chortles, “You shoulda known he’d hear you with his ears back, they were pointed right at us!”

“Oh, I'm sorry, is my completely rational caution FUNNY to you?!” I snarl, trying to restrain myself. Why am I such a fucking asshole? These are my closest friends!

“It’s not completely rational, and that’s why it’s _funny_ ,” Audie laughs, throwing an arm around my shoulders in a bizarre attempt at comforting me. “Seriously, look around us. Do you see _anybody?_ ” She gestures all around with her free arm, turning me in a circle. “Because all I see are a big fat fuck and a little baby bitch,” she adds, poking me gently in the chest.

I reach down and pinch the base of her tail, feeling a little better as she yelps and tries to swat me. “Hey, there are cameras all over this city,” I explain, pulling her along as I resume walking. “Do you really think they’d need to put goons on every corner when they can sneak, bribe, or hack their way into that convenient little spy program? Now keep walking, I don’t want to hear either of you bitch about your feet getting cold.”

“Hey, uh... your boat’s got a heater, right?” Harry asks as we resume our pace, somehow just now worrying about that.

“ _Yes_ it has a heater! What, you think I was gonna pack you on ice and take you to market? Try to sell you as a fresh-caught fatfish or something?”

 

We arrive at the marina and negotiate the ice-slicked docks, until finally I present my boat to them. “Here it is,” I sigh contentedly, “The only thing between me and the cold clutches of death.”

They look at it in awed silence, until Audie speaks and breaks that assumption with ease. “...Wow. Yeah, you were right, you should have gotten rid of it.” Okay, maybe their silence wasn't awed after all.

“What? Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because you thought it was cursed. Now, I’m not a curse expert, but I can tell you that it definitely _looks_ cursed.”

Harry tilts his head, still staring. “Yeah, bro, you coulda sold this for scrap and probably rented an apartment by yourself. Or you could sell it now and move in with Norm and me, but this just looks like the boat of bad ideas, to be honest.”

“Well what the fuck do _you_ know?!” I growl, looking between them. “I’ve been around boats my entire life, and the only thing my boat isn’t is pretty. You can check the bilge yourself, it’s _dry_.”

“I don’t know what you mean, bro, but if my bilge was dry I’d fill it up and smoke a bowl.” Harry and his nip jokes. Every goddamn day with this guy.

“Fine. Fine! If you assholes don’t want to come aboard, you can go on back to your... _immobile_ dwellings with their weird smells, noisy neighbors, and paper-thin walls while I will be out here, completely safe from any annoying bullshit like that in my womb of steel.”

Harry mutters, “Shit, that’s a good album title...”

Audie approaches hesitantly as I walk the tiny gangplank and hop onto the deck. “Ugh, fuck... all right, maybe it’ll look better on the inside, who knows?”

Harry looks up from texting ‘Womb of Steel’ to whoever the fuck and scrambles to catch up, nearly losing his phone to the sea in the process.

I mutter quietly to myself as I unlock the door, leading them into the wheelhouse. “ _See if I invite you fuckers over again... talk shit about my goddamn boat, you’re lucky I LIKE you or I’d beat you with a whisker pole..._ ”

Audie shivers as she enters, prodding me. “Hey, what was that? I heard that. Are you talking shit, fish boy?”

“Yeah!” I nod, closing the door behind Harry. “Yeah, I'm talking shit. Do I talk shit about _your_ home when you invite me over? No. I might _think_  it, but I keep it in here because I’ve got manners,” I gripe, touching a finger to my temple. “Let me turn up the heater so I don’t have to hear the two of you _whine_ any more,” I add, climbing down the ladder to the lower deck.

I return moments later, having turned it up higher than I’d prefer - _you’re welcome_ \- and find the two of them looking around like confused toddlers. “Well... seems cozy,” Audie offers insincerely. "Kinda spartan, though."

"It's a fishing boat," I sigh, slowly feeling my muscles relax now that I'm inside. "It's not really meant for entertaining, but I can work on that sometime."

She shrugs. "Yeah, that would probably be a good idea." She looks around a little more, pretending to look concerned or something. What's the big deal? It's not _that_ bad of a place to live. Shit, she didn't have a problem when I was living in a goddamn van! What's the downgrade here? She has her fill and looks to me, asking, "There's a toilet in here, right?”

“The head’s down the ladder,” I answer, pointing over my shoulder. “And before you ask, the toilet’s called ‘the head’ on a boat.”

“I... wasn’t gonna ask,” she lies, climbing down behind me.

I shuffle past Harry and take a seat at the table, offering Harry a spot. "Well, this is it. I know it's not a yacht, but this is more my speed, anyway. Do you think Norm could help me move all my stuff here? Might need to make a couple trips, but they’d need to release my shit before we worry about that.”

Harry takes another look around and offers a shrug as he sits down. “Yeah, probably. You’d have to ask him to be sure. You’re seriously gonna live on this boat, though?”

I cock my head to the side, staring at him. “I used to live in a van, Harry. Are you saying a boat is a downgrade?”

“I’m just sayin’ it’s a little out of the way, dude, don’t take it like that. It’s sweet that you got a place to live and I’m happy for you, but it’s super grungy. And... wobbly.”

I wave a paw, grunting dismissively. "The rocking is one of the good parts, it's comforting. Besides, all she really needs is a fresh coat of paint! I can probably get a full repaint courtesy of the Guard, so who cares?”

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “That’s the most positive thing you’ve ever said, bro.”

Our conversation is cut short by Audie’s voice, calling plaintively from below. “Uh, hey Reese? I kinda need a little help.”

I look toward the ladderway with a sigh. “What’d you do?”

“Wh-what did _I_ do? Can you not be a dick for a minute and just get down here?!”

I JUST sat down, goddamnit... “What could you need help with? You just got down there, what, did you miss the _open door?_ ”

“MY ASS IS FROZEN TO THE SEAT, YOU FUCK!”


	63. Bargain 2: Echinoderm Boogaloo

“Are you serious? Have they HEARD the jokes I’ve told about their food?! Why the hell would they want me in a commercial?”

Chet continues to bargain, trying fervently to convince me it’s a good idea. He’s lucky we’re talking over the phone because I’d bite his face off if he told me this shit in person! “Reese, listen to me. They want _you_ for this. It’s only going to run locally at first, but if it does well, we’re talking about the possibility of _nationwide broadcast_. This isn’t some mom-and-pop taco shop, dude, this is La Cucaracha we’re talking about.”

“I fucking HATE La Cucaracha, Chet, you know th- OW!” I rub the back of my head, my ears ringing from the crack of Matsumoto’s Chopstick of Dishonor. “Goddamnit,” I mutter, under my breath. “Okay, look. If they want me so bad, try to... I don’t know. Get me extra rights or something, get them on paper, I don’t know. I’ll have to call you back, my boss looks like he’s about to serve me up as Reese rolls.” I hang up and shove my phone back into my bag, hanging it back on the wall under my hat. “YES SIR, I’m on it, sorry for the delay,” I snark as politely as I can, bowing repeatedly and sarcastically as I shuffle backwards across the dining area. Great... big group at this table. I’ll have to make an extra trip just for their damn party platter. I collect the left-behind chopsticks, dipping bowls, and glasses, carting the lot of them behind the counter. “That big group of rabbits left a bunch of cash on their table, what do you want to do with it?”

Matsumoto stops mixing rice for a second, releasing a frustrated sigh. “Why do they not read the sign?” he grumbles, shaking his head.

“I don’t know,” I gripe. “I mean, I can appreciate that the sentiment behind it... well, maybe not the _sentiment_. The cultural expectation, I guess. But I’m not from a tipping culture either, so I’m with you on this.”

“We count it up later and I think of something. Just put it in the jar,” he sighs, preparing some nigiri for an increasingly-drunk lioness.

I return to the table from before, because it's still there, and groan as I look at the remaining platter. Goddamnit... he couldn’t have cheaped out just a little and gone for plastic dishes? No, this is the authentic experience, down to the heavy ceramic platter that’s fucking bigger than I am. Fuck, here goes... I slide it from the tabletop, standing it on one of its ovoid ends. I take a couple breaths, widen my stance, and heft it with a grunt, sidling towards the counter when a voice thunders from the doorway louder than the drunk salaryman at the karaoke mic.

“KEN! THAT BOY YOU HIRE LEAVE THE DISH SO DIRTY IT GROW LEGS!”

I nearly jump out of my skin, trying to keep a grip on the platter. “GODDAMNIT FEDOR, DO YOU WANT ME TO DROP THIS?!”

The rotund asshole laughs, setting a styrofoam cooler on the counter. “Hey... you let him talk like that in front of customers?” he chuckles, pointing a thumb at me. He knows goddamn well Matsumoto doesn’t, he just wants to see me get hit. All I know is there’d better be something good in that cooler he brought or I’m shoving that chopstick up his fat Russian ass.

Matsumoto either ignores my language or decides to wait until I’m not carrying this dish, turning his attention instead to the cooler. “Something good?” he asks, smiling, as he wiping his paws with a towel. “Always something special when you show up like this.”

Fedor pops the top and the smell of fresh, and I mean _fresh_ seafood fills the shop. I slide the platter into the sink and all but teleport to Matsumoto’s side, breathing deeply of the delicious stink.

Fedor laughs. “Shit! He come like a damn pet!”

I know that smell. He’s got fucking urchins in there, and I need one. “Hey, Fedor, don’t you think you owe me an urchin? You know, after letting that lady mangle my paw and everything?”

“ _Zatknis, mudak!_ ” he chuckles. “Sonja sewed up hundreds of idiots, none of them complain until _you_. What your problem?”

“You mean besides my paw looking like Doctor Frankenstein put it back together while drunk?”

“Shaddap. After you win that boat, I don’t owe shit. I got you job there, didn’t I? Hell, I wanted that damn boat, maybe you owe me!”

“You wouldn’t fit in the damn boat, it’s set up for- OW! GODDA-“ I shut my mouth and growl, rubbing the back of my neck. Goddamnit! He must know there's a callus building up there, so he picked fresh spot!

“How many times must I hit you tonight?” Matsumoto scolds. Do I really _need_ this fucking job? Damnit, I can’t ask myself that. I need money, so of course I need a job. I can’t expect to live off whatever Lundøye deems appropriate to pay me, they already shit their pants when I told them what diesel costs down here, I don’t need to give them any reason to cut what they already agreed to pay for.

“Can you not? You could just yell at me like a civilized mammal, you know, I’ll learn either way.”

“Do you not have dishes to wash?” is his response. Goddamnit. I clamp my mouth shut and stalk over to the sink, turning on the water.

 

The bus jostles softly as it traverses the pitted streets, its gentle rocking - but mostly my poor sleep schedule - making it hard to keep my eyes open. I droop slightly, drooling as I lean against the window. I’ve very nearly fallen asleep when the piercing howl of a bosun’s whistle sends me flying off my seat. I scramble for my phone, under the withering glare of the other four passengers, finally holding it to my ear and hissing, “What is it?” Just what I need. I do so love listening to my father drone on about duty or honor or whatever the fuck he’s got on his mind right now.

“‘What is it?’ Thought we’d raised you with manners, boy. It so happens we’ve got a few small items to discuss, you an’ I.”

I release a slow, pained breath through my nose as I try to avoid anticipating any of the items on his list. “Yeah? Get to it, then,” I groan, sitting back down.

“First, that quote you sent. Don’ you think it’s a bit much? It’s a lucky thing you sent it through unofficial channels, otherwise-“

“Otherwise what? That’s one of the best yards in this city, I asked around. They do good work and their rates are reasonable.”

“Two thousand dollars for a bottom repaint is supposed to be _reasonable?!_ ” he barks, punctuated by the sound of his desk chair creaking to an upright position.

“Surprise! Shit costs money here, especially labor. What do you expect me to do, beach it as the tide goes out and go at it with equipment I don’t own?”

“Well I’d expect you could shop for a lower damn price at the least! For four and a half kilograms of silver I’d expect the topsides done as well and the bloody _head_ swabbed!”

Oh shit, the head. "Hey, uh, about that. I think I'm gonna need to have the head replaced, beca-"

"You told me the bloody thing worked! That or you never said it was broke in the first place. Just happen to slip your mind, boy?!"

"Shut up, damnit! It works, yeah, but the other day I... had a friend over, and as I've told you, I found a marina in the cold part of town. And, uh, her... her ass froze to the seat when she sat down. So I have two options: find a different marina or replace the head. The head's a one-time purchase, moving to another marina would cost a lot more in the long run. See? I'm trying to _save_ money."

Silence. I can't tell if he's thinking, raging quietly, or had a heart attack. Eventually I hear him sigh. He must have been thinking. "Hmph. Weren't sure if you was still into women."

WHAT? "Did you forget about Enid or something, you fucking windbag?!" _Ow_ , my heart. I thought that wound was healed. I'll have to drink or cry that away later.

"Well we never heard a thing from you for years on the bloody subject, what was we supposed to think?"

"Maybe that I'm just not fucking _telling_ you? How about that, did either of you consider _that_ possibility?"

"I don't have all night to listen to your lip, boy."

I restrain the urge to chuck my phone across the bus. GOD do I hate talking to this man sometimes! "Then why don't you shut the fuck up and get to why you called me?"

He clears his throat. "I want at least three more quotes for paintin' before I'll put any of this through, and you will have a package of supplies in the post before the month is over. Your orders have been finalized, and you will receive them with the rest of the package."

I rub my face agitatedly. "All right, fine. Is there anything else?"

"One question, of the... personal variety."

Oh fuck. This'll be the highlight of my night, I can tell.

"This girl of yours isn't another bloody _ferret_ , is she?"

“Bye.” I hang up, hardly getting the phone into my bag before the whistle blows again. I accept the call, even though I know I shouldn’t. “I’ve told you to keep your specist shit to yourself. Call me when you have something to say that’s worth hearing!” I hang up again and shove my phone into my bag, crossing my arms as a foghorn blows. I gather my bag and storm off the bus as it stops, letting it ring several times before I even look at who’s calling. Of _course_ it's her. “Yeah, what?” I ask, trying not to snap at my mother more than is absolutely necessary.

“Reese, you know your father. He’s just-”

“Yeah, and you both should know _me_ by now, and I’m not listening to that shit!” I snarl.

“Yes, I know... would you like to talk about something else, then? Take your mind off it?” she asks sweetly. Sure wish I’d had the sweet mom when I needed her, where was this woman when I was a kit?

“I know what you’re going to ask about, and no, I don’t want to talk about her. All you need to know is that we get along well.”

“All right, then.” I can tell she really wanted to talk about it, but she seems to have no shortage of subjects. “If you’d prefer, I’d like to talk about what you named your boat.”

“What about it? I think it’s pretty fitting, don’t you?” I have a little laugh to myself, I _knew_ she’d take issue with it. Anything petty and harmless I can do to get back at my parents makes my life worth living. “I named it for both of us, I thought you’d be happy. Anyway, I’m going to be with friends for a while, I’ll have to call you back later.” I stuff my phone in my bag after exchanging goodbyes and begin the long climb up to Norm’s - now also Harry’s - apartment.

 

I finish my marathon ascent, dragging my feet by now, and rifle through my bag for something hard. ...Where the hell did this freaking rock come from? Well, when life gives you a rock, bang it against something, I guess.

Harry answers the door almost immediately, staring at me as I put the rock back in my bag. “ Dude, was that a fucking rock? You didn’t ding up the door, did you?” he asks, checking for damage. “Why do you... hang on, is this some kind of weird shit you do, like where you come from everybody just carries a rock around so they can open clams or something?”

“First off, Harry, I think that’s otters in the Pacific Northwest, so that’s specist.” I really don’t care if that's specist or not, I'm just giving him shit. Hell, he knows I don’t care. He’s probably heard me get drunk talk about seals. “And second, no. We don’t carry rocks, I don’t even know where I got that from, we all carry _knives_ to open clams with because we’re _civilized_.”

“Uh huh... didn’t you say you grew up in a stone hut?”

“There’s nothing else to build with!” I bark, doing my best to hide the ironic laughter behind my tired glare. “And I’d like to see _you_ build a house that lasts hundreds of years.”

“Get your ass in already, man, you’re letting in the cold.”

I shuffle inside and drop - rather, hoist - my bag onto the couch before climbing up myself. I’ve already become so used to my new home, with the tables and seats set so I don’t have to fucking climb onto everything... but it’s what I’m used to, now that I think about it. I lived in the van for most of my time here and for much of the time I didn’t, I lived in Harry’s place. I'm so sick of the size disparities in this city.

Norm sits on the other end of the couch, giggling incessantly at his phone. “Is this one of your regular giggle fits or have you been smoking since breakfast?” I ask, settling into the corner where the armrest meets the backrest. I wedge myself in snugly and shut my eyes for a moment until another raucous laugh from Norm startles me. “DUDE. I’m trying to sleep over here, mind keeping it down a little?” I snap, adjusting my position grumpily.

“Man, you just got here!” he laughs, dragging a fingertip up his screen. “Besides, it ain’t my fault this is so funny. I wish Audie did _every_ website, you should read this shit, Reese.”

I sigh tiredly. “Can it wait?”

He rolls his eyes. “Mammal I’ll just read it _to_ you,” he gripes. “Reese Midgard Serpent Cadogan. Age seventeen hundred sixty-nine of our earth years. His hobbies include long walks on the beach, pillaging villages, and regicide,” he laughs. “I like that middle name, it suits you. You all noodly and bitey like a serpent.”

Wha-? “That’s not my goddamn middle name,” I mumble. Of course, since Audie wrote this, I should have expected it to be completely absurd.

Harry arrives at the couch, _finally_ , with a bag of Cicada Puffs in his paws. “Is that all you’re gonna say? Nothin ‘ about pillaging and shit?”

“No, that part’s funny, I’m just wondering why she’d say my middle name is _Midgard Serpent._ I mean, why go with that instead of Jormungandr? You know, the serpent’s...” I sigh. “No, you wouldn’t know, would you? You get all your Norse mythology from Thor comics.”

Harry shrugs. “ Yeah, pretty much. Tried reading the original shit but it’s too dry,” he grunts, hoisting himself onto the couch. “But since you’ve told us what your middle name isn’t, now you have to tell us what it is. That’s a thing, right? That's a new rule, I just made it up so now you have to tell us.” Norm giggles, looking over Harry and watching my reaction.

I try to push backwards, but remember I’m in the upholstered bight of a hook right now. “Why are you both looking at me like that? Cheese and rice, you can ask me what it is without being fucking creeps about it. My middle name is _Konungabani_. It... kinda makes her joke funnier, actually.”

They blink, looking at each other in confusion. “Mammal, we don’t speak _Viking_ ,” Norm gripes.

I’m suddenly overcome with a feeling of intense self-consciousness. Why did I even tell them I _had_ a middle name? Fuck, I'm too tired to think _straight_ right now, what are the chances I can think duplicitously? “She’s never gonna believe she called this shit. It uh, it means Kingslayer.” I force an embarrassed chuckle, completely drowned out by Norm’s laughter as he frantically shoves his phone in Harry’s face, with the definition of regicide still on the screen.

 

Audie arrives in her own time and the writing session begins. Many ideas issue forth from our increasingly-intoxicated mouths as Harry struggles to write each down.

“Bro, why don’t we do the Vaudeville bit as a video?” Harry asks, looking to me. “I don’t know why I never thought of that.”

“Maybe you did, but you just forgot because of all that shit you smoke,” I joke, far less drunk at this point in the night than I’ve ever been at a writing session. “You may have had that thought dozens... fuck, hundreds of times by now and we'd never even know.” Audie's never been this sober at this point, either. Apparently she forgot we were trying to cut back on drinking; I thought it was a good idea, something we could do together, some kind of... I don’t know, trust exercise or whatever shit they sell couples these days. She seemed pretty upset when I denied her a third beer.

“Well, what about it? We already got everything we need, we just gotta film it and we’re set, dude," he asks.

“You know what else you should do?” Audie asks suggestively, leaning against me as she slips a paw into my bag. She yanks my laptop out and opens it, cackling with devious intent, but the computer doesn’t respond. “Oh goddamnit, why won’t it...”

“How many times have I told you the battery’s shit?” I sigh, offering her the power cord. “Go on. Try it.”

Her gaze shifts between the cord in my paw and the calm look on my face, suspicion evident in her eyes. “Okay, I expected a reaction, but this is just creepy, dude. Why aren’t you freaking ou- OH MY GOD, DID YOU DELETE IT?”

I let out a single, sarcastic laugh. “Me? _Delete_ something? I WISH I had that fucking superpower. No, really, go ahead. You’ll never guess my fucking password anyway.”

She groans softly. “Plug it in and unlock it, please,” she asks, handing it back to me.

“Hell no, I know what you’re playing at.”

Norm pulls the giant joint from his lips and looks over at us, belching smoke like a dragon as he coughs. “Oh shit. Do I gotta separate you two? Because I don’t allow no frowns in my town.”

“I’ll chew your goddamn thumb off if you touch me,” I gripe, shoving my laptop back into my bag.

“GONAD. I keep telling you we need to do Gonad!” Audie laughs, swatting me playfully.

“SHIT YEAH,” Harry announces. “Bro! Plug that thing in, I gotta read that right now!”

I lift a paw to my forehead and rub my brow slowly. “Didn’t I ask you _never_ to tell anyone about that?”

Audie shrugs. “Can you blame me? It’s gold, Reese, pure fucking _gold_. You HAVE to at least consider it.”

“Yes I _can_ blame you, and I _have_ considered it. It’s just that you don’t agree with my consideration because you have trouble taking no for an answer.”

Harry stares at my bag, eager to see the worst thing I’ve ever written with his own eyes. “Bro. If you let me read that, I will buy you _whatever_ gross sea monster you want to eat.”

“HA! You couldn’t afford it, motherfucker!” I laugh, resting a paw protectively on my satchel.

“Dude... Reese... you fuckin’ underestimate how much I wanna read that, and how much money I got back from my skeezy landlord. Norm, fire up Rhonda, we’re goin’ shopping.”

 

The four of us pile into Norm’s tiny hatchback, and after overpowering my steadfast refusal to sit in his nephew’s car seat, we take off. “Don’t throw such a fit, bro, you know the deal by now. Norm could get a ticket if you’re not in the seat. Or worse, if we’re in a crash you could fucking die,” Harry sighs.

  
“Then I guess I’d die!” I snap, trying to sit comfortably, which is impossible in this goddamn thing. “I’d rather die and find out what the hell really happens than be pried out of a fucking baby seat by some giggling ambulance asshole.”

  
Audie reaches over and sets a paw on my shoulder. “You know, Reese, before you came around I felt the same way. But now that I get to sit here and listen to you scream about it I fucking _love_ riding in Norm’s car!” she laughs, kicking her feet with joy. “I’m sorry, dude, I know you hate it when I laugh at your anger, but it’s just so funny to me!”

  
She’s lucky I like her, goddamnit. If I were strapped in this tightly up against anyone else I’d have bitten their paw off as soon as they touched me! “So explain to me how two adults in one child seat isn’t the same kind of illegal as if I were just using the regular fucking seatbelt,” I grouse. As partial retaliation I reach down to pinch Audie’s muffin top, smirking slightly as she yelps and swats back.

“Man, maybe you should’ve pulled the straps tighter,” Harry chuckles to Norm.

We eventually reach our destination: a plain warehouse near a grungy fishing dock, with no signage present. Even in the cold of Tundratown I can smell the distinctive mix of fish, musk, and vodka that confirms this as Fedor’s new location.

“All right... all of you follow me, but hang back as I knock. I’ve got no idea what kind of mood he’ll be in or how drunk he is right now.” The sun is rising now, casting long shadows across the frozen ground. He’s probably still awake. Unless he’s changed his routine significantly he’ll only be slightly drunk, but I’ve seen him answer the door before and he never seemed happy with the interruption. I creep up to the door and look back at my shivering friends - what lily-livered assholes they are - and pull the rock from my bag, banging it violently on the door before dodging to the side.

“ _YESLI TY DUMAYESH’, CHTO ZABERESH’ MENYA,YA S’YEM TEBYA ZHIV’YEM_ , MOTHERFUCK!” Fedor roars, swinging the door open and thrusting blindly with some bayoneted... is that a fucking _musket?!_ I don’t know guns, but what the fuck!

“CHEESE AND RICE, what the fuck, man!” I cry, still gripping my rock which I’ve reflexively raised, ready to chuck it at his face should I need to.

“ _Sukin syn!_ What fuck you thinking?! You want to get kill or something, _tupitsa?_ Get fuck inside, stupid boy!” He’s more drunk than I thought, he’s completely forgotten articles. I shove the rock back into my bag and motion for my friends to follow, at which point Fedor stops me with a single finger.

He crouches before me, groaning involuntarily as his body fights the motion. “Who fuck these assholes?” he asks me, ever so eloquently, squinting either suspiciously or drunkenly, but probably both.

“They’re my friends, and they’re here to buy,” I sigh, pushing his finger away from my chest. “Or do you not _want_ their money? Because I’m sure we can find another-“

“SHADDAP!” he barks, standing upright and beckoning them inside. “Come! Fedor offers discounts to dumbass friends. Well... not discount. Maybe little less markup.”

“That’s what a discount _is_ , you fat drunk motherf... fuck it, just come inside.”

I lead my gaggle of asshole companions through the warehouse, glancing at the frozen fish all around me. Fuck. Why couldn’t Fedor have gone immediately to this and hired me here?! I mean, Matsumoto’s is fine, but it wreaks hell on what little I had of a social life. And I know I’m trying to cut back, but I kind of miss drinking at work; it really helped on those slow shifts.

We stop in front of a metal tank. A salt-crusted pump hums beside it, circulating water constantly for the benefit of whatever dwells within. “This what you want, eh?” Fedor asks, picking up a long pair of tongs from nearby. “Maybe should have asked Matsumoto nicely,” he chuckles, plucking a writhing urchin from the briny pool.

I stare at the creature, transfixed by its slowly-wiggling spines, and wipe the drool from my chin. “I want two. One for me, and one for them. They’re paying.”

“Fifteen dollars each wholesale,” Fedor states, looking past me at Harry, Audie, and Norm.

“What the fuck, seriously?!” Audie gasps, backing into Norm’s leg in a feeble escape attempt. “Dude, I’m out. I don’t even want to try whatever that is, it looks poisonous. Can we just chip in to get you one?”

“No. This is your end of the deal, negotiations have ended. Besides, I haven’t had urchin in years, and I know you pussies won’t eat a whole one, so I intend to eat whatever you leave. Now do you want to read Gonad or not?”

The three of them reach reluctantly into their pockets, discussing quietly among themselves as I continue salivating. I snatch the money from their paws as soon as it’s collected, thrusting it towards Fedor eagerly. "I'm gonna teach you fuckers something tonight," I snark, gingerly accepting a fresh urchin from Fedor. I pull my knife from my pocket and, with practiced skill, split the still-living invertebrate to the shock and horror of my friends.

"HOLY SHIT! Dude, you could have warned us!" Audie cries, darting behind Harry and covering her eyes.

I stop for a moment, confused. "What the hell was _that?_ Weirdo."

"I'M the weirdo?!" she laughs, peeking out from behind Harry. "I'm not the one who just... casually ripped a living thing in _half_ , Reese. That's some serial-killer shit!"

I pause before splitting the second urchin, breathing an exasperated sigh. "You're aware that food... ALL food, plant and animal, has to _die_ for us to eat it, right? What I'm doing couldn't be more normal. If I did it so casually, it's only because I've done it thousands of times in my life." I ignore any further comment from the peanut gallery and finish my task of removing and cleaning the delicious roe sacs from both urchins, setting them before my friends. "All right. Since you read it without permission, Audie, you eat first."

"I'm not really hungry," she mumbles, looking a little green in the gills.

I shrug. "More for me, then. And I guess nobody will ever get to read-"

Before I can finish my threat, she's crammed an entire roe sac in her mouth and apparently swallowed it whole. "FINE. Now you've... guhh, you've got to... oh _god_ that's fucking gross."

"I don't have to do _shit_ yet. Now you two can have some," I add, smiling at Harry and Norm.

"Bro, we just said we'd buy you some, we never said we'd eat gross shit just to read it," Harry reasons, holding his paws out in a physical show of hesitation.

"Well it's my goddamn shit that I wrote, so you jump through _my_ hoops."

Harry sighs. "All right, fine..." He and Norm take a piece each, eating them with obvious reluctance. "...Well that was fuckin' weird. Not, like, bad, but just... _weird_."

"Yeah, well, you just don't know what's good," I chuckle, dropping a glistening roe sac into my own mouth. I give it a couple chews and... what the fuck? I look down at the still-writhing urchins at my feet, dropping to one knee so I can smell them again. No... they're still good. How can this... "Fedor, how fresh are these?"

Fedor gives me a look like he may punt me. "They come out of water today, little shit. I try myself, these perfect!" He takes a roe sac for himself, smacking his lips as he eats it. "See? Perfect. As good as any in city!"

I look from Fedor to the urchins. "These are the worst fucking urchins I've ever tasted."

Several seconds of profound silence follow until Audie cackles. "HA! Deal's a deal, asshole!"


	64. Emission of Guilt

My boat rocks gently as I sit on the deck, my paws wrapped around and eagerly working the hard rod in my paws. “Oh fuck. Oh, that feels good. Oh fuck... fuck fuck fuck fuck YES!” With one final jerk I yank my catch right out of the water, working the reel quickly as the sleek, silvery fish flaps and jumps in the air. I drop it onto the deck and grab a wrench I found in a locker, bludgeoning it merciles... actually _mercifully_ , if you think about it. It’s much kinder to dispatch the fish quickly than to let it suffocate over the course of a several minutes, and the meat tastes better the less stress the fish goes through. Ethical _and_ delicious! I waste no time in gutting it, setting the organs aside for use as bait (or a handy snack), and rinsing it with fresh water from a bucket I found in a locker. A different locker than the wrench one. To me, this is survival and leisure combined: I am nature. I am one with the sea, and I am one with the fish. To Pete, however, I’m a goddamn lunatic.

“Jeez, kid, you don’t mess around, do ya? I figured we’d just do a little catch and release, but you... cripes, I feel like I’m watchin’ a professional.”

“Well, you are watching a professional,” I reply with a shrug. “A former professional, anyway. I’ll do this for myself but I won’t do it for a fucking paycheck.”

He hums as I throw a length of rope over the boom and hang this latest fish up where the wind can get at it, right next to the other five I’ve caught. “I dunno, I just think you’re askin’ for trouble just hangin’ those out. If the damn gulls don’t get ‘em, you’ll probably have DNR up your butt.”

“DNR?” I ask, wiping my paws on my pants.

“Yeah, DNR,” he nods. “You know. Natural Resources. You’ve got a fishing license, don’t ya?”

I stare at him for a moment, wondering if I've heard him right. “You mean you need a license just to catch _fish_ here? I understand needing a license to drive a car, but fishing? Seriously?!”

Pete looks between me and the fish, the gears in his head churning almost audibly. “Oh jeez... okay, uh, just tell folks I caught the fish for now, but you should really get a license. You don’t wanna get on their shit list, Reese.”

“Fuck that, I’m not paying admission to take my  _natural place_ in the world! If they can prove to me that I need a license to catch fish I’ll consider it, but until then... no, that's bullshit. And how would they know? I mean, how will they arrest me if I don’t tell them?”

Pete releases a worried sigh and dabs his brow with a handkerchief. “Cheese and crackers, you’re a weird kid.” He shakes his head, amused. “Anyway you can bet my lips are sealed. Least as long as you don’t piss off Oddball,” he chuckles, wagging a finger. "Normally I have to _rent_ a boat to go fishin'. If I can keep you around, all the better for me!"

I shrug. “Just seems stupid to me. What else do you need a fucking license for in this city? Have I been taking illegal shits? Can I be arrested for fucking outside of designated areas?!”

Pete guffaws, wheezing slightly as he doubles over with his paws gripping his sides. “Shit, kid, is _this_ what she sees in you?”

I snort softly and shake my head. “I don’t know. I know it’s hilarious to her when I’m angry, but I don’t fucking understand that.”

 

I sigh, looking down at the meager strips of cloth that make up my ‘costume’... if it can be called that. I vetoed a few accessories that Harry and Audie came up with, but they insisted on the overstuffed banana hammock beneath the ridiculous loincloth. ‘His name’s _Gonad_ ,’ they said. ‘There’s _got_ to be some sack showing,’ they said. Oh, I’m sorry, I thought I was the one who created this fucking character! God forbid the fucking AUTHOR should be consulted on matters of wardrobe. “Look, how the hell do you expect me to walk in this?” I ask, glaring at Harry as I gesture to my artificially-enhanced junk region. “Did you even fucking read the source material? Not only are certain details left intentionally vague, but the thrusting could just as easily be referring to his spear. Which, I might add, is described as size-appropriate!”

Chet, for once in his life, appears to agree with me. Not out of any sense of fairness or justice, though, he’s probably agreeing with me just because his costume may actually be worse. Aside from the arcane patterns painted on his fur, an oriental silk robe (belonging to Billie’s mother) with the front open and a bedazzled faux-fur thong are all he’s wearing. “Reese, I would like to take this opportunity to apologize.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. What the fuck are you supposed to be?”

Audie throws her arms up towards Chet, as if presenting a fabulous prize. “This... is GRAVLAX THE GREAT! The most evil, most _powerful_ gay wizard in the realm!”

“Ga-  _gay wizard?!_ ” I sputter, pulling her aside for a moment. “I never wrote any gay wizards. What the hell is going on?”

She laughs in my face, patting me on the shoulder. “No, you didn’t, and that’s a problem. See, every great hero of the past had a nemesis who’s obviously gay, right? Well, we’re gonna skewer that just like we’re gonna skewer every other high-fantasy trope!”

I take a deep breath, trying to think of whatever incredibly stupid thing she’s going for with this. “Okay... I'm gonna tell you right now, if this ends with Gonad assfucking the wizard-“

She nods her head wildly, biting her lip to contain her laughter.

I rub my forehead, summoning from my belly the mightiest of groans. “...Great. By the way, why the fuck did you name the wizard Gravlax? I _like_ gravlax. Can we change the name or something?”

Chet beckons my attention. “ Whoa, hold up. What the hell did she name me after? I wanna know too, just in case it’s gross or offensive or something.”

“It’s not gross, it’s delicious! Why is _that_ your first thought?” I stammer, feeling attacked.

“Hey, no offense, dude. But from everything I’ve heard about the stuff you eat, I have a few sensible reservations.” He raises his paws in an innocent shrug.

I shake my head as Audie loses her composure, dropping to her knees with laughter. Looking up to Chet, I explain, “Dude, gravlax is salmon that’s been cured in a mix of salt and dill, sometimes a little sugar.”

He hums. “Oh. Yeah, that actually sounds pretty good.”

“It _is_ good, especially when it’s made properly. What you find labeled as gravlax these days is okay, but it’s not _real_ gravlax.”

Audie rises to her feet as she catches her breath. “Oh, let me guess, it isn’t REAL gravlax unless you bury it on the beach for a month, right?” she jokes, nudging me with an elbow.

“No, just a week,” I reply. A sudden, concerning silence falls between the three of us.

“Huh. All right, that’s pretty gross,” Chet muses as Audie falls all over herself with laughter.  _Again_.

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with all of you? Society depended on cured and fermented foods for millennia, but ever since _you_ became slaves to refrigeration, _I'm_ the weirdo?! I could say I eat ASS and I’d get less criticism!”

Audie stops laughing instantly, looking me dead in the eyes. “Wow. Okay, rotten fish is one thing, but ass is fucking gross.”

I shrug. “Well I guess I’m just a considerate lover.”

The look on Audie’s face can only be described as _delicious_. With Chet’s screaming laughter filling the room, she begs, “Oh fuck, tell me you’re joking. I’ve KISSED you, you asshole! PLEASE tell me you’re fucking joking!!”

Very rarely in my life have I had such a hard time holding my laughter. Fortunately, through years of dedicated practice I manage to limit myself to a cocky smirk, looking back at her as she gags. “Are you serious? You’ve had dick in your mouth and I’ve kissed you _that minute_ , but at some point I may have committed an act of passion and you’re going to throw up?” Chet falls down, attracting attention from the rest of the production crew.

Oh god... I’m gonna be sick, dude!” she gags, gripping her sides as her body tries at once to both laugh and vomit.

I watch her for a moment, realizing that her grossed-outedness may actually overpower her natural mirth. I think I could push her either way very easily, but dare I test that? Shit, _that’s_ a flawed question if ever I've heard one. There’s absolutely no downside that I can think of should I induce her to further laughter; the other direction, however, worries me. First off, I may cause her to actually barf, and that wouldn't be the most detrimental outcome towards our friendship and our... well, relationship. I mean, we’ve seen each other barf plenty of times. That's nothing new. But what if she feels so disgusted that it actually impacts our relationship? I’ve been getting used to this, growing used to _her_ , and I don't mean just physically. I thought I might be too cynical to feel things, but that might not be the case. I’m suddenly terrified that, should I steer her further towards disgust, she may even end our relationship. I just wish I didn’t think it would be so goddamn funny to make her barf right now!

I swallow nervously, burying the urge to gross her out any more. “I mean, you’ve seen the shit I eat. How much worse than that can an asshole _really_ taste, right?”

A direct hit. It's not a great joke, but it's as well-timed as I've ever managed. She falls on her back, kicking her feet as she gasps for air between spasms of laughter. Chet laughs behind me, and those other three assholes we hang out with are slapping their knees farther beyond him. I’m not laughing, myself. I can still picture Audie barfing on the floor in front of me, imagining how hilarious it would be to make her eject her last meal, but I think I made the right choice. Instant gratification is nice but I’d rather not risk something - and someone - I’ve been growing so comfortable with. I’ll settle for the lesser feeling of accomplishment I feel now, having reduced a mangy gaggle of fellow amateur clowns to fits of laughter.

 

“ _For restless years I have walked the world, enemies and danger surrounding me on all sides. Through speed and cunning, as well as the bite of the dread spear Redshaft, I survive. My wanderlust in search of my final goal have lead me here, despite the attempts of beast and mammal alike. And once I have found my fortune every pair of lips across Hymenia shall scream my name: GONAD!_ ”

I cough, clearing my sore throat. “There, there's your fucking intro! Was _that_ gruff enough for you?” I gripe, turning from the microphone to look at everyone. “Seriously, I can’t keep that up any longer. And let me change out of this fucking costume!”

Audie shakes her head, a smug look on her face. “You’ve got to stay in-character, dude. How do we know you’ll do it right if you’re wearing pants?” A few chuckles trickle forth from the rest of our friends.

I take a deep breath. “That’s a very good question,” I sigh, rubbing my brow. “Maybe you could consider my YEARS OF FUCKING TRAINING.”

Well THAT set them off. I’m beginning to think I should try screaming onstage, it almost makes these fuckers pee their pants when I scream at them! Then again they’ll laugh at fucking _anything_ , so who knows? I could end up just pissing off a bunch of audiences.

“Cheese and... it’s not that goddamn funny,” I grumble, pulling off my costume so I can put on some fucking pants.

“WHOA, bro!” Harry laughs, playfully shielding his eyes. “Little warning before you release the kraken?”

Audie jumps between me and the rest, holding her arms out to her sides. “Hey! Keep your eyes to yourselves, you tramps, that’s MY dick you’re looking at!” she laughs. Now, it’s difficult for her to say most things with a straight face, but this is utterly impossible. I shake my head with a groan, thinking hurtful things regarding her perpetual lack of seriousness until I realize she’s very kindly handing me my pants. “Come on, cover your shame. You did good tonight.”

'Well. I did _well_ ,' I think, opening my mouth but swiftly shutting it. I pause for a moment to think, falling further into a snarky pool of thought. _Fuck_ English. Fuck this bizarre melange that masquerades as a proper language, fuck its shitty spelling, and especially fuck its stupid adverb rules. In almost every language I know, ‘you did good’ would be _fine_. I snap back into the real world after a short moment, thanking her for my pants. “I’m kind of surprised you didn’t make some joke about getting into my pants,” I reply, stepping into them with my back turned to everyone.

“Ah shit, why _didn’t_ I?” she gripes, smiling as she stamps a foot in defeat. “Hey... I know you really didn’t like doing this one, maybe even more than you dislike _anything else_ we’ve filmed.” Ha ha. Funny joke. She should be in comedy. “So the next time we do one of those cooking shows, you can feel free to bring whatever kind of sea weird monsters you can get your salty little paws on, okay?”

“Oh, the ink has already dried on that, it’s _happening_ ,” I announce, pulling a random band tee over my head. “I’ll have you know that not only am I preparing some food just for that, but I’m expecting a package from home. And when it gets here you’re all going to know _exactly_ how I feel about the food in this city.”

Billie grimaces. “Why, because we’ll eat it and it’ll be as disgusting as you say the food here is?”

“Yeah, because... oh FUCK you. You’ll taste _real_ food, _real meat_ , and you’ll wonder how you managed to choke down processed protein paste made from fucking grasshoppers for your entire, sad little lives!”

“Bro, I’ve tried some of your food, and I’d honestly rather take the grasshoppers,” Harry chuckles. But what does he know? He'll eat anything when he's stoned.

“You know, if you don’t like it here, why don’t you leave?” Billie asks, returning from Chet’s kitchen with a six pack and tossing a couple around. Her question sounds strangely curious, not at all sarcastic. I mean... there is sarcasm, to be sure. This is _Billie_. But I don’t think she means it rhetorically.

“That kind of implies I like it _anywhere_. I’ve lived in a lot of places and they all have something to hate about them.”

“Didn’t they have things to like, though?” she retorts, punching a hole in the top of her can with a fang. I always hate when she does that.

“Hey, can you not do that in front of me? You’re gonna break that fucking tooth, that shit freaks me out.”

“Fuck off.”

“Good to see you two getting along,” Chet jokes. It’s a running gag among these fuckers that’s never been funny to me. Not because it’s untrue - it _is_ untrue, Billie and I get along fine for the most part - but because I just don’t think it’s fucking funny. But don’t try telling that to any of these assholes, they’ll assure you that they know better than anyone else what is or isn’t funny, completely ignoring the basic fact that humor is entirely subjective.

I sigh tiredly, checking the time. Fuck... this took a lot longer than I’d hoped. Doesn’t help that we had to shoot the wizard-buttfucking scene a dozen times because these assholes can’t keep from laughing for ten seconds. “All right. If we’re done here, I have to go get some fucking sleep. Don’t worry about calling me over to see the finished video, Chet, because I don't ever want to see it.”

I sling my bag over my shoulder and proceed out the door, making it all the way out of the building before Audie catches up with me, gasping for breath. “Dude! I said wait for me before you go, did you forget or something?” she huffs, leaning against the doorway.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe. I’m just barely on my feet right now, do you really expect me to remember anything? Are you sure I even heard you?”

“Yeah!” she answers, throwing a wad of fabric into my arms. “Now as punishment, _you_ get to carry some shit.”

“Carry wha-“ I look at the pile of cloth in my arms, realizing she’s thrown a bunch of blankets at me. “What the fuck, are you moving in or something? Why the hell are you bringing a pillow?”

“Because you don’t have any spare blankets, dumbass. Or do you _not_ want me to stay over sometimes?”

“I... kind of thought _you_ didn’t want to stay over. I mean, it was your idea, and I haven’t replaced that toilet seat yet.”

“Meh, I’m sure you’ll think of something until you do. You could always leave the heater on when you’re not home, or-“

“Fuck no!" I interrupt. "Have you _seen_ what diesel costs? I’m not leaving that goddamn thing on twenty-four hours a day!”

She takes a deep breath through her nose. “...Or you could wrap the seat in something, you know, just as long as my ass won’t freeze to it again? _Think_ , you moron.”

 

We board a cross-town bus and climb onto a seat, and Audie apparently decides our conversation isn’t inappropriate enough. “Okay, so tell me. Have you really eaten ass before?”

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?” I whisper. I know I don’t have a lot of moods, but out of the few that I do, I’m certainly _not_ in the one that would allow me to discuss that kind of thing in public. I’m not sure I even _have_ a mood where I’d find that appropriate. “We’re on a goddamn bus, Audie. You wanna talk about something civilized or something?”

“Oh, civilized? You mean like what, _irrigation?_ ” she laughs, taking such joy in my discomfort. “Yeah, dude, we’re on a city bus. The girls over there are talking about what STDs they’ve had, that guy’s on his phone setting up a drug deal, and I don’t really know Spanish but I _think_ those wolves back there are meeting a hooker. This is _exactly_ the right place to talk about eating ass.”

I take a breath, fighting the urge to pull the emergency release and leap out the window. I’m too goddamn tired for this shit. “Okay. I’m not talking about that on a fucking bus. You can ask me about something _else_ , but I’m not answering that here.”

“If the answer was no, I don’t think you’d have a problem answering that question in public,” she teases with a smirk.

“That’s a significant logical leap,” I groan, slouching against the wad of blankets beside me. “And do you even _want_ to know? Or are you just having a bit of fun with me right now?”

“A little of both,” she admits with a little shrug. “I’m curious what kind of shit you’ve done before, you know, what kind of stuff you like, how many... you’ve never been clear on how many girlfriends you’ve had.”

“And? I’ve never asked how many boyfriends _you’ve_ had, you just keep telling me they were huge assholes.”

“You also don’t have an inquisitive mind, dude. That may be fine for you, but  _I_ like to know things.”

“Does it matter? Does it _really_ f-” I cut myself off. I may as well TRY to not be a dickhead to her! I mean, I really like her, and she DOES fuck me by her own choice. It won’t kill me to open up a _little_. “All right,” I sigh. “ I’ve had one girlfriend and one... almost-girlfriend.”

“Almost-girlfriend?” she asks, cocking one of her outrigger-like eyebrows. “Gee, What makes a girl ‘almost’ a girlfriend?”

“It’s... it was a dumb relationship, not really based on anything besides the fact that we had both left serious relationships at about the same time and we didn’t think we knew how to be single, which is why I said it was stupid.”

“Uh-huh. I’m listening,” she smarms, leaning in slightly.

“What, you need _more?_ ”

“Uh, yeah,” she snarks, fake-punching me on the shoulder. “It’s hardly getting good yet, I know there’s more of a story there.”

I groan. “Fine. Her name’s Jane, she’s a skunk, and-“

“Holy shit! You really DID date a skunk?!” she laughs, probably alerting the entire bus to that little fact.

“Yeah,” I hiss. “Mind lowering your goddamn voice? It didn’t work out. Not for lack of trying, we just... we didn't like the same things, we didn't have any opinions in common. Only thing we did well together was fuck to get over our breakups.”

“Oh my god,” she laughs, shaking her head. “Well, how about the other girl?”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Fuck, I... I thought I would be over this by now. I clear my throat and try again. “Enid. Her name was Enid.”

Audie takes a moment to process, then freezes. “...Wait, 'was?' Oh god, I’m sorry Reese, I didn’t-“

Fuck. I could have said that better. “NO, no, not like that,” I interrupt, holding my paws out to signal her train of thought that this isn't the correct track. “She’s not dead or anything, but I think that actually might have hurt less. I wouldn’t have learned anything from it, though. Her name is Enid, and she’s a ferret.”

“A ferret?!” Audie laughs. Zero to a hundred in a millisecond, this one. Just seconds ago she thought someone had died! “I don’t know if you’re aware, dude, but I’ve seen _murder_ in your eyes when someone mistakes you for a ferret, now you’re telling me you DATED one?”

“It’s not fucking funny,” I growl, knowing full well she disagrees. She could be right. Maybe I just haven’t realized it yet. There's a lot of irony to mine there, to be sure, but there's too much associated baggage for me to see any humor in it. “Enid and I loved each other more than Jane and I fucked, and Jane and I fucked a _lot_. So much that we got bored with it. But what Enid and I had was a shitty, fake relationship founded on bad ideas and mutual inexperience.”

“Mhm?” She leans forward, resting her chin on a paw as she bats her eyelashes at me expectantly. This bitch... she's lucky she's cute.

“We started dating just to piss off our families. I’m not sure if you know anything about the divide between polecats and ferrets in Britannian history, but there were threats lobbed at us even from our own _families_. Do you see now why I basically hate everyone and everything? Because that’s a pretty big part of it. No matter where I go, specists and shitheads abound.”

She nods slowly. “Uh-huh... I can see that. I can also see some of why you’re fucking _insane_ , but keep going.”

I scratch my chin. “Anyway, we... we actually ended up falling in love. Not with each other, it turns out, rather with who we thought the other was. Looking back, she was a much better person than I. And even though she fell short of who I thought she was, she didn’t deserve the shit I put her through.”

Audie blinks, looking a little concerned but still somehow curious. “Wow, _that_ sounds loaded. What’d you do?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it. Can we let it rest? Please? I never want to think about that time again.”

“You know, that just makes me _really_ want to know.”

“Oh, it does, does it?" I sigh. "All you need to know is that you don’t have to worry about what I did to her because I’m never going to do it again. Don’t-“

“If you don’t tell me, dude, how do I know I can trust you on that?” Oh fuck, she's serious. She's lost her playful smirk.

I breathe a slow, deep breath through my nose. “Really? After as long as you've known me, you can’t give me the benefit of the doubt _just_ this once?”

“Well Reese, after an admission like that, I want to be sure. Is that weird to you? I've told you I've dated assholes, and I want to know you're not the same kind of filling in a different wrapper.”

I rub my brow. “No, it’s just... I’ve never even said this to anyone, but I’ve never even seen you keep a secret, so can you understand _my_ concern?”

“Well... yeah, that’s true, but that’s because those things were _funny_. Can you blame me?”

“Yeah!" I nod, emphatically. "Yeah, I can _totally_ blame you.”

“I guess that’s fair.” She sighs. “But this one’s different,” she declares, sitting up straight. “All right. I swear that if you tell me, I won’t share it with anyone. But if what you did horrifies me, I reserve the right to run screaming from this bus. Sound fair?”

“Cheese and fucking... really?” Fuck, that's probably the best I can get. “Fine. Let's start with the fact that I have issues. You obviously know _that_ by now. But back then, I had a lot of the same issues, except I was also younger and stupider and I hadn't worked through them as much as I have now. After the shit I was put through at home, I just wanted some control. I loved acting because it gave me that. I could make an audience feel however I wanted them to, and it was _intoxicating_. I still get that. When I’m on stage and I have a bunch of drunk fuckers in the palm of my paw, there is _nothing_ that compares. I don’t care if you... let's say you jumped up on the stage and sucked me dry. When I have an audience in my grip like that, I wouldn't even notice you, because I'd already feel like the king of the fucking world.”

“Wow, dude. That’s definitely kinda fucked up, but it doesn't ans-”

“I’m not done," I interrupt, pointing a finger in her face and looking sternly into her eyes. "You _asked_ for this. I'm going to finish. Now, obviously I wasn't on stage all the time, but I had a lot of opportunities offstage to get attention as well. I was in fucking _theatre_ school. I spent a lot of time hooking up with girls who were almost as stupid and just as desperate for attention as I was. And before you think it was just me, it wasn't. Aside from classes, clinics, and rehearsals, that's just about all theatre school is: it's a bunch of needy, attention-desperate idiots fucking each other nonstop. Seriously, next time you’re in any theatre, take a good whiff. There are at least two idiots fucking in there, I guarantee it.”

“So wait, you cheated on her?” she asks, fixing me with a bit of an offended look.

“No. I didn't cheat on her and I won't cheat on you, I’m not _that_ kind of scumbag. What I am... what I _was_ is worse. Like I said, I wanted control. When I was having dumb, meaningless sex with other dumb drama students, I would do whatever I could to make them feel... well, anything, really. Just as long as they would acknowledge and remember _me_. All it was to me was just another performance, in an intimate venue, for an audience of one. I wanted nothing but five-star reviews.”

Whether she knows it or not, she's been slowly and steadily inching away from me on the seat. I don't hold it against her. “Well, I can’t fault you on _that_ ,” she shrugs. “But what's that got to do with anything? It just sounds like kind of a brag right now. Are you gonna quit beating around the bush and tell me what the fuck you did? Because while I personally appreciate your eagerness in the sack, I’m kind of assuming the worst over here and I’m really hoping you’ll tell me it’s not that bad.”

I look in her eyes and see fear. _Fear_. Actual fucking fear! There's not much there, but it's past simple concern at this point. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but whatever it is, I... fuck, nevermind." I slump back on the seat, breaking eye contact and rubbing my brow. "I was cruel. I wanted to make her _feel_ , just like the few girls in my class who were as desperate as I was. Looking back now, I could have done it in any number of ways, but instead of making her feel loved or adored I’d just yell at her and make her cry. _That’s_ who I was. I was the little asshole so full of anger at the world that I’d take it out on the only one around who mattered.”

Audie stares at me without blinking for what feels like several minutes before finally breathing one of the most relieved sighs I've ever heard. “Oh thank _god_. You're definitely an asshole, but I was thinking of _way_ worse shit," she says, offering a relieved half-chuckle. "But yeah, you’re... you’re not far off from a couple of the assholes I’ve dated before,” she shrugs.

“Am I?" I ask, looking her once again in the eyes as she stares back at me in silence. Did she take that rhetorically? "I'm sorry, but I meant that as a question, one to which I want an answer. Because if I’m still like that, I want you to show some fucking self-respect and leave me right now.”

She stammers, waving her paws in front of her. “No! No, no, you’re not- I don’t mean you _are_ like that, you just... fuck, you know what I mean.”

"If I knew what you meant would I have asked you that?” I stare at her for another extended, quiet moment.

“Cheese and crackers... _no_ , Reese, you’ve never been like that to me. And don’t worry, if you had I’d have dropped you like a steaming turd.”

“Good.” I lean back, looking out the window partly in an effort to rid myself of that mental image. We’re getting close to Tundratown now.

 

We hop down out of the bus and begin down the sidewalk, and she scoots in close as we walk. I didn't expect that, but I can think of a few reasons why she would: she's cold and wants to steal my body heat, she thinks that was some kind of couples' trust-building exercise we just went through, or she's about to lick her finger and put it in my ear again. She clears her throat. “So... something else I want to know.”

I look back to her, verifying that her paws are both dry and wrapped around my arm. How nice of her to let  _me_ carry all her crap so she can be affectionate! “Do you _really_ want to push your luck with more questions right now?”

She laughs. “Oh I'm sorry, were you under the impression I’m a _good_ judge of that? Because if I were I don’t think I’d be a goddamn comic, I'd probably have a career or something that made money." She adds a laugh, probably more for my benefit than hers. Well, it works.

I groan. “Yeah... probably. What is it?” I ask.

“This may come off kind of weird, but I kinda doubt some of what you were saying earlier. Granted, I've smelled some of what you eat, so I'll believe that you were able to fuck a skunk. But you fucked her enough to get _bored_ with it? How did-”

I raise a paw. “Hey, skunks get enough shit without you jumping on the bandwagon too, all right? But when you hang around with them you get used to the smell. Believe it or not, it kind of grew on me.”

“Seriously?!” she laughs in disbelief. “Dude, that’s fucked!”

I stop walking and look her dead in the eye, staring silently for a moment. “You think that’s weird, yet you’ve never _once_ questioned it when I shoved my snout against you and snorted?”

She has to think about that for a moment, but begins shaking with laughter as she remembers. “Oh god, you fucking _weirdo!_ What the fuck is with that?” She tightens her grip on my arm, either inadvertently or so she doesn't fall on her ass. "Oh my god, if that's your fetish-"

Fetish? _Fetish?_  If she thinks... wait. Opportunity for comedy detected. Thinking, thinking... I've got it. Baiting the hook. “Audie... AUDIE," I interrupt, jostling her. "Cool it for a second. I’m gonna ask you something, and in the interest of fairness I'll permit you to laugh, but I want you to at least consider it.”

“What... oh fuck, dude, wait. I’m gonna fucking pee my pants if you make me laugh any harder.”

I shift the pillow and blankets under one arm as I grip one of her shoulders and turn her to face me. “Seriously, Audie, I mean this." The hook is cast. Let's see if she'll bite.

She covers her mouth, blinking back tears as she tries to calm herself down. "Okay... okay, I'm good, you can go ahead. What is it?"

SHE BIT. Time to reel her in. I strain, fighting the urge to grin; I need to keep up a complete deadpan for this to succeed. "The next time I come to your place, I want you to do like Josephine did for Napoleon."

She takes a breath as her brow furrows in confusion. "You... what? What do you want me to do?"

" _Don’t wash_.”

I smile as she collapses, convulsing on the frozen sidewalk. I could wonder why I never thought of such a thing when Enid was around, but I know who I was back then. That Reese is gone, and everyone's better off for it.


	65. Feed Your Beast

I sigh, looking through the script for about the seventh time. It’s a little difficult to get it all in one go with my ass bouncing off the bus seat every few seconds. “Chet, this... I mean, don’t take this personally, but this is _shit_.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, it’s not the way I would have gone, but trust me. It was way worse before I got my paws on it.”

“Did you try to tell them that they’re two separate fucking characters and not some shitty modern Jekyll and Hyde situation?!”

“Dude, Reese, just settle down a bit. I did tell them that, but this is what they want, and after this you can make your own video to get revenge. I don’t think they really understood that part of the contract, so take advantage of it, all right? Be as vicious as you want.”

I look up from the script, staring into the distance as I ponder. “Are you sure about that?”

“Hey. My cousin’s a paralegal, and she wrote the wording herself. We should be safe from them suing us if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, good. I feel so much better,” I snark, handing the script back to him. I groan softly to myself as we near the studio, and Chet pulls the stop cord. “Why the fuck did I agree to this?” I growl, hopping down to the floor.

“Because it’s a good career move, Reese. With luck, this will be a foot in the door to bigger and better things.”

“The only thing I’ve had in a door since coming here is my _tail_ ,” I grunt.

He laughs. “Man, just give it a shot. If it’s as bad as you expect it to be, fine. But if it puts a bunch of money in your pocket - which it will - and puts your face where agents and producers can see it, what have you got to lose?”

“My self-respect,” I sneer, shuffling along beside him.

He chuckles again, shaking his head. “I’m surprised you have any left, man.”

I forgot how much I hated this place. Everything in the Burrows - _everything_ \- is painted some hideous color, there are pointless bunny ears and carrot decorations in all of the buildings, and to top it all off we have to be here in the _morning_. Fuck everything I’m looking at. Don’t these horny little idiots have any shame?! They’ve made this place look like something out of a goddamn cartoon! Cheese and rice, what if I, as a predator, decided to decorate with bones and splattered red paint? Would _that_ be okay? Of course not. I’d be thrown into a padded cell with tranq darts sticking out of my ass as a ‘preventative measure.’

The stereotype behind the front desk bounces in her chair. “Oh HI! You must be the guys for the La Cucaracha shoot! Awesome, you’re right on time. I just need you to sign in right here, and you can go in through the pink doors over there!” she chirps.

“Cool, thanks,” Chet responds, kneeling down to reach the pen. The low-lying furniture here really reminds me just how tall this motherfucker is. He offers me the pen and, begrudgingly, I leave my mark in the book.

 

I knew I would hate this. I never thought I’d hate it this quickly, though. We haven’t even started filming! I’m not even out of wardrobe yet, and already I’m surrounded by three jabbering, hyperactive... _pestilential_ production assistants. If I lost my mind and bit one of their faces off would they let me out of the contract? Because I'm about five seconds from trying it.

“STOP CROWDING ME, GODDAMNIT!” I snap, angrily swinging a wire hanger. Son of a bitch! It's bad enough being surrounded, but they're bigger than me just to the point where it's uncomfortable. Makes me feel... I don't know. Cornered. “Can I change my fucking pants before you start harassing me?! Back off!” They’ve obviously dealt with worse than me, because they merely step back out of whipped-with-a-hanger range before they continue yammering.

I storm out of the wardrobe department, pulling a sweater vest over my head as they keep. Fucking. TALKING. “CHET. Chet, can you get these assholes off of me? You’re the goddamn director, aren't you?”

He shakes his head. “I think I can only control what goes on in front of the cameras, man. Hey, you guys mind not surrounding him? You’re pissing him off and, uh... you’ll throw off his performance,” he bluffs, trying to be helpful.

They retreat only slightly, but at least I can fucking breathe. Goddamn rabbits. I’m not as social a creature as these long-eared... rodents? Whatever the fuck rabbits are. They’ve got those dumb teeth that keep growing forever, don’t they? “All right, I don’t want to be here any longer than I need to, so let’s get this over with. How are we doing this?”

“Well, the easiest way to do it would be in normal order. Your clothes are supposed to get messed up as we go, so it’d simplify things.”

I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself. “That’s fine. No need to Bearantino a damn _commercial_ ,” I sigh, shuffling onto the set. “So... this one here, the book store?”

“You got it,” Chet nods, trying to fit his ass into a tiny director’s chair, but ending up on the floor after it cracks under his weight.

I begin looking around the fake bookstore, scanning shelves, scratching my chin. This continues for a while, then again at a different camera angle... and then again. Cheese and rice, am I going to have to put up with this for every shot? I would rather have filmed a thirty-second commercial in a maximum of five fucking minutes. I could _do_ it, there aren’t really any costume changes, and all the sets are up already.

“All right, real good, Reese. Give us some variations on a theme now, your stomach is rumbling and it’s time to hunt down a burrito.”

I groan softly. I read the script, Chet, I know what it says! But in the interest of getting the fuck out of here as soon as possible, I do as he asks. I give him a few different versions, hamming it further with each take. “All right, is that good enough?!” I gripe, staring daggers at him as he discusses something with a pig wearing a La Cucaracha polo shirt.

“All right, let’s move along,” he says, clapping his paws and rubbing them together for a moment. “Reese, just go nuts on this next one.” Oh, he wants _nuts_ , does he? “For this shot we’ll go to the street set, someone get the extras ready.”

 

I drop onto my ass and lie back against a fake building, panting. Too hot... it’s this fucking sweater vest, I’m burning up in this piece of shit! It’s bad enough I just spent half a fucking hour running around nonstop, ‘scaring’ a bunch of morons these assholes most likely pulled off the street. “Chet... Chet, get me some fucking ice!” I gasp, wiping my face with the back of a paw.

Chet, in a rare example of one of my friends simply doing something without making fun of me, scoops me up in one arm. He carries me from the set to a mobile salad bar - apparently La Cucaracha was generous enough to provide lunch - and shoves me headfirst into the ice that surrounds several tubs of chopped vegetables. “Better?” he asks.

I take a deep breath of fresh, cold air. “Yeah. Better.”

“All right. Well don’t stay in there too long, you’ll screw up your costume.”

I bury myself and roll over, poking my head out of the pile of ice. “Fuck that, I _like_ it in here. Why can’t I take lunch, too? Isn’t there supposed to be a lobster here with my name on it?”

He laughs. “Yeah, I think they did agree to that,” he answers, looking around for the rest of the food. “Yeah, looks like it’s over there. Go ahead and take a break, man. You’ve done damn good so far.”

I take a break for lunch and wipe my face with the cheapest paper napkin I’ve ever felt, looking at what little remains of my contractually-mandated lobster. I’ve seen prawns bigger than this goddamn thing, are they even _legal_ at this size? I mean, it’s not like I won’t have leftovers; I’ve got a little stomach and no tools to get into those claws. But still, they could have sprung for an average lobster over this... this _hatchling_. Wait, do lobsters hatch all lobster-shaped but tiny, or do they undergo some kind of metamorphosis from weird-ass polyp to delicious spiny monster at some point? Shit, no time to Zoogle lobster life cycle, Chet’s on his way over.

“Hey, Reese. You good to go again?” he asks, ignoring the swarm of gibbering drones at his heels. “Next we’ll try the drive-thru scene. I think I like that idea better than the over-the-counter leap.”

I sigh. Of _course_ he’d go with the drive-thru window, there’s a higher chance I’ll hit something. Gotta have a blooper reel, right? “Goddamnit. I knew you’d say that, why’d you even put down two options?”

“Just being thorough,” he shrugs. “But don’t sweat it, man. I’m the only one here big enough to throw you through the window, and I used to play a little hoofball in high school. You’re in good paws.”

“Oh good, I’ll keep that in mind when I splatter against that window.”

“Oh relax, you little drama queen,” he chides, leading me to the drive-thru set. Just how many goddamn sets did they build for one fucking commercial?

As we get closer, I get the feeling that they didn’t build the drive-thru set, or perhaps any of these sets, for this commercial in particular. From some of the decor hanging around I think they might have built this drive-thru sometime just after the invention of fast food, and ever since they just swap out a few items and a polo shirt depending on whose commercial they’re shooting.

Chet stops and turns to face the drive-thru window, then begins stretching. Yeah, good idea, why not limber up before killing me? Maybe I’ll die quicker! Better that than suffering slowly. “Okay. You ready, Reese?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to warm up with something, uh, inanimate first? I mean, these aren’t your high school days. I’d much rather know you can hit a target than taste bricks.”

He shakes his head. “All right, fine,” he agrees. “Let’s see what we’ve got around... ah.” He finds a small sandbag among a few dusty tripods, hefting it in his paw. “This ought to do. Watch this, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” he assures me, winding up and throwing the bag right into the wall beside the window.

I turn my eyes from the bag and look up at Chet. Yeah. NOTHING to worry about. "Hey, how much do dentures cost? I don’t need them right this minute, but we should look that up before you knock out all my fucking teeth.”

“Man, shut up,” he gripes, retrieving the sandbag and hefting it in his paw. “Hey, come here, I need to know if this this weighs about the same as you.”

I point a finger in warning, staring back at him as he approaches. “All right, but if you throw me I’m gonna haunt you forever.” I let him pick me up, dangling uncomfortably in his grip while he gauges my weight.

He eventually sets me down. “All right, it’s a bit heavier than you but not by much. Let me get a few more throws in, and we’ll be good to go.”

“A few throws in a row through the window, you mean. I’m not hitting that fucking wall, Chet, so get to practicing.”

“All right, relax! Cheese and crackers, dude.”

 

A camera pans around a book store. Several patrons browse the shelves idly, and as the camera settles on a red polecat a disembodied voice asks, “Where will you be when the hunger hits you?” The polecat freezes, twitching slightly as the sound of a stomach rumbling fills the store. His expression slowly changes from peaceful and intelligent to feral, his lip curling to show his teeth. He shrieks, dropping to all fours and scampering from the building.

A quiet street in Zootopia. Flowers are in bloom, and lovers share lunch at a charming open-air cafe. The savage red beast leaps into their table, screaming bloody murder as he bounds from the tabletop, knocking their forks and drinks asunder.  
The scene repeats in a few more locations: a crowded crosswalk, a grocery store, and a generic office building. Each time he shows up, the hungry monster sows seeds of terror and small-scale destruction. Joggers break into a sprint, vegetables roll across the floor, and important papers are flung into the air. The voice returns. “When nature takes over, there’s only one place to go...”

The scene switches to the interior of a fast-food drive-thru, and a rabbit who looks too happy with life opens the window. “That’ll be seven twenty-WHOA!” they cry, as a screaming, scarlet mass of claws and teeth flies in past them. The picture switches yet again to footage of fake food, resting on actual dishes instead of plastic trays as the disembodied voice prattles in about ‘flavor’ and ’value,’ as if La Cucaracha offered either.  
It finally wraps it up, exhorting the viewer to “Feed Your Beast,” because there’s no telling what may happen if you put off lunch for merely fifteen fucking minutes. Holy shit, you might eat all your coworkers!

The polecat sits at a table, looking disheveled, but chewing happily as he adjusts his glasses and pulls out a book. The burrito in front of him is about half his size, and a comically-large bite has been taken. A logo fades in, filling the screen, and a folk song begins to play. The words ‘Feed Your Beast’ are ripped into the picture as if by the claws of a predator, and the commercial ends.

I sit quietly on the couch in the middle of all of my friends, setting the remote on my lap and pressing the power button. “That is the stupidest, most tasteless fucking thing I have ever seen in my life,” I groan, interrupted by the uproarious laughter that erupts all around me.

Everyone else begins yammering unintelligibly about the commercial. I repeat, the _commercial_. Not the exciting season finale of a hit tv show, not an unbelievable game-winning play to claim a championship, not even a streaker in the background of a live newscast. It’s a fucking commercial. I feel something push on my back and realize it’s Chet’s large paw, patting me proudly and triumphantly. “Good job, Reese,” he chuckles. “I don’t think you could have done any better.”

“Oh, I could have done a _lot_ better,” I snarl, shrugging his paw off of me. “I could have not fucking done it! I mean, I’m no expert, but I think that would have been the best thing to do, don't you? But hindsight’s 20-20.”

Audie must have heard me. Strange, that; I can’t hear myself _think_ over Harry and Norm, but she must have a sixth sense for detecting sarcasm. She leans up against me, throwing her arms around my shoulders and hanging off me. “Ah, shut up why dontcha? That was fucking AWESOME, you just don’t know what’s good!”

I writhe, trying to peel her off so I can properly stew in my own negativity. I can already feel warmth rising inside me at her embrace, whatever hormone it is that causes that... what’s it called, oxycontin? Oxymoron? No, not oxymoron... fuck it, who cares what it’s called, I always sucked at biology. The hug hormone. I don’t want any of that shit right now, it makes it hard to properly _brood_. “Get off, I don’t- stop touching me, I don’t _want_ to feel good!” I grumble. “Let me feel bad, I've earned it!”

“Is that why you live on a gross boat in the most depressing part of town?” Billie snarks, never missing an opportunity. Ha ha.

“Yeah, come on!” Audie laughs, reinforcing her grip now that she knows it’s pissing me off. “That was _great_. Now you’re gonna be making way more money than the rest of us, and you can pay us back for all that mooching you’ve done!”

I give a shake and drop out of her arms, sliding off the couch in the process. I meant to do that... and I absolutely meant to land on my face. It’s a thing I do sometimes, you should try it. I brush myself off with a sigh, standing up. “I thought you said the reward for my mooching was that you got to laugh at me,” I snark, bringing her own words to the argument.

“Yeah, well...” she stammers, climbing down behind me as I head for Norm’s kitchen. “That works for me, I meant for the _others_.” She jogs a little to catch up, swiftly matching my angry pace. “Why’re you so pissed? You’ve done worse. The Savage Spray commercial, that was way worse, wasn-”

“No, not really!” I snap, coming to a halt. “That one was the product of a fucking citywide crisis. This one...” I clam up, taking a breath to slow myself down. “This one’s just plain specist,” I growl, returning her gaze with uncalled-for intensity. “Folks were afraid of predators going savage. No one knew why, now we do. But the answer isn’t ‘Oh, they just do that when they’re hungry!’ I may as well have put on fake teeth and wolf ears, because that’s exactly the kind of... fucking MINSTREL SHOW I just took part in!” I shout, jabbing a finger towards the television as spit flies from my mouth.

Audie sighs, smiling softly as she draws me into a tight hug. She rests her head on my shoulder and twists her neck, sticking her snout in my ear. She whispers to me, sweetly, “Reese, it's _okay_. Why don’t you come back out, sit with me, and maybe quit being such a little bitch about it?” The whisper ends with her laughing in my ear as I push her off of me. “Come on, really, it’s not that bad!”

“Why? _Why_ isn’t it that bad? Because Chet wrote it, so it can’t possibly be specist? Or maybe bec-“

The howl of a foghorn interrupts me, and I shudder at the immediate thought of what awaits me. I shuffle back to the couch and retrieve my phone from my bag, groaning as I read the name on the screen. _Leonard_. Of course it’s him, I can’t think of anyone _but_ him who’d call at a time like this. I breathe a ragged sigh at the thought of the conversation that awaits me and answer. “What’s up?”

“Reese,” he replies, sounding almost creepily calm. “I was just watching tv when something a little bit... uh, disturbing came on. Care to guess what it was?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Leonard, I know what you saw. I hate me too, just get it over with.”

He pauses. “That's not what I expected, but all right, I can get to the point. Do you have any idea how problematic that commercial is? I admit I’ve rarely seen such a lighthearted take on the stereotype, but this is _exactly_ the kind of portrayal that we’re trying to END. Did you just happen to forget that?!”

I take a moment to form a response. He’s absolutely right, I can’t really argue the point. Not that I'd want to, anyway. “If it makes you feel any better I fleeced them for my performance.”

“Oh. Well that makes everything just fine!” he snips. “Tell me, did you at any point stop and think about what you were doing?”

“Yeah. Several times. Now, do you have anything to say that I haven’t thought of already? Because I really need a drink right now and to not talk to anybody. If it’ll shut you up I’ll donate all the money I make from it to CRAMP. No really, I don’t fucking want it. I’ll live off my day job, you can have the La Cucaracha payout, I don’t even like their fucking food and I’ve decided I don’t like their money either.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds. “That’s... generous of you, but I’d appreciate if you not do anything like this in the future. The Savage Spray was one thing, you told me you just stumbled into that one. Don’t Be A Beast I let slide because it was public service, and believe it or not, it was pretty popular with the kids. But this one is beyond the pale, Reese. I hope I don’t have to call you like this again in the future.”

Cheese and rice, this guy's better at hiding his anger than anyone I know. Probably comes from being a teacher. Or maybe he's a teacher  _because_... fuck it, I'm not a psychologist. “Well, there’s... there’s one other thing. My friend wrote and directed it, but he also wrote the contract. La Cucaracha has some shit coming their way as well, so don’t think they’re getting out of this unscathed.”

I hear him sigh again. “I don’t care. Unless it actually _undoes_ the damage you’ve done, I really don’t care.”

I look at my phone after he hangs up. “Great. That’s just fucking great,” I groan, shoving it back into my bag.

 

Audie approaches me in the kitchen as I sit on the floor, hunched over a glass of rum and stewing silently as everyone else watches some vapid sitcom or something in the other room. “You all right?” she asks, rubbing my back in a feeble attempt to comfort me.

“If I ever answer that question positively I want you to kill the fucking alien that’s taken my place. Can you do that for me?” I take another sip from my glass setting it back down as I ponder how to roast that sorry excuse of a restaurant. It’s not even _food_ that they sell. La Cucaracha... you’d think with a name like that, a few cucarachas might actually make their way into the ingredients list, but nope! I’ve _eaten_ cockroach. It’s not to my tastes, but it’s better than La fucking Cucaracha.

She sits down beside me. “I don’t get it, dude. If you really hated it so much, why did you do it? I don’t like going to church, so I don’t go to fucking church. What gives?”

“Fuck if I know,” I growl. “You ever try to change Chet’s mind on something like this? He almost had _me_ convinced it was a good idea. Kept telling me it could start a career for me, said it’d be great money... well it _was_ great money, he was right about that, but I don’t want their money now.”

“Yeah, I heard. You’re really gonna give it all to CRAMP? _Your_ broke ass?” she chuckles, jostling me playfully.

“I don’t need that money. I’ve got a job and a boat, and once the cops and my fucking insurance company give me back my gear I may not need the fucking _job_. Do you know how much money I can make just fishing? I could support myself easily and I wouldn’t even have to do it every day.”

She laughs in my face. “Fishing?! The thing you left home to get away from, are you _fucking_ with me right now?”

I shrug. “Yeah! The more I think about it, the more I realize it’s _really_ not that bad! I know how to do it, I’ve got the equipment, and I know a guy who’ll buy what I catch. I could be my own boss. I’d be fucking _free_ , Audie, and around here there’s shit to satisfy my need to do other things. Isn’t that what you’d call ideal?”

Harry waddles in, one paw shoulder-deep in a bag of Cheez Crickets. “What’s this, an intervention?” he asks, plopping his ass down on my other side. “We love you, Reese, stop throwing your life away! Look what you’re doing to your poor mother!” he laughs. “Nah, you know we don’t love ya,” he winks, nudging me with his elbow.

“The usual drama,” Audie shrugs. “He’s fine. Just needs to get it out of his system.”

“Dude, if he could get it out of his system he’d be _happy_ by now.”

Audie laughs and I continue thinking, reflecting briefly on their short conversation. They’re both right, in a way. They’re also both wrong, but somehow right. “More like I need to get out of _this_  system. Fuck it, I’m just a negative guy, all right? Can I be allowed that? You have happy-as-fuck extroverts all over the city who go out of their way to harass folks like me who’re minding our own business and hurting no one, but somehow _we’re_ the problem. Now both of you cram it, I’m trying to think.”

“Don’t overheat your brain,” Harry quips. “What’re you thinkin’?” he asks, shoving a pawful of artificial flavors and colors into his maw.

“I need to burn La Cucaracha. Like burn them, as in down to the ground, but without actual arson charges being thrown around. I want to do something so offensive, so... so _savage_ that they’ll pull their entire ad campaign in protest. I need to make it so that any company who wants me in their ad will think twi- no, fuck that. I want them to think THRICE before they even think of hiring me.”

Audie sits down, rubbing her chin. “Ooh... now that sounds fun,” she hums.

”...Thrice?” Harry asks, puzzled.

“Three times,” Audie explains. “Hell, I don’t know. Why not just make a video about everything you hate about them? Or- shit! Make an honest ad, about who REALLY eats at La Cucaracha!”

“Yeah!” Harry adds through a mouthful of cricket. “Whatever she means!”

Now that’s an idea. Maybe not a good one, but it _is_ an idea. “Hm... that might work,” I muse, considering a few new possibilities. “But we might need some equipment, and we’ll probably need someone on the inside.”


	66. Show Some Class

“ _WHAT’S NEW, PUSSYCAT? WOAH-OH-OH..._ ”

A chorus of terrified screams drowns out my accompaniment. I double over, clutching my sides as I laugh at my friends’ pain. “HA! You thought I was fucking KIDDING, didn’t you?!” I cackle, savoring their reaction.

“ALL RIGHT! Cheese and crackers, fine! Pick another goddamn Stink song, just no fucking Tom Jones!” Harry cries, releasing his paws from his ears.

I grin triumphantly and stroll back to the karaoke machine to pick something I actually want to sing. I knew that would work, I’m probably the only fuck in this city under the age of ninety who can _stand_ Tom Jones. Cheesy lyrics aside, he’s a Whelsh national treasure and one hell of a showman. These fuckers need to broaden their horizons.

I finish my song and shuffle back to the table just as Billie ends her shift. She snatches me by the back of my shirt and lifts me to eye-level, staring tiredly. “If you ever come here on my shift again, I’ll fucking kill you,” she grumbles, dropping me on the table.

“Fuck you, bitch,” I reply, brushing myself off, since she and I have that kind of rapport. How can she hate The Police? Real police, yeah, I could understand that. I don’t like real police either. But to hate what’s undeniably the best band of the 80s?! It defies belief! “As Audie says, _you just don’t know what’s good_.”

Audie raises her paws before herself diplomatically. “Woah, hey, leave me out of it,” she titters. “She’s kind of got a point, dude, you don’t have to turn every bar with a cheap karaoke machine into a one-man Stink tribute concert. Don’t you like any _other_ bands?”

“Yeah, bro. Throw in a little Barking Heads or something,” Harry laughs. “Just... look, I get that you like him, but you’re kinda killing him for the rest of us, you know?”

“Hey, you’re the ones who brought me out and got me drinking,” I scoff, pointing an accusatory finger. “Did you forget what happens?”

Billie makes her way back to us after stacking some chairs. “Hey. Bar’s closed, you little shits, so _shoo_.” Audie opens her mouth to argue, but Billie brandishes a broom, chasing us out of the building.

“Tch. _Bitch_ ,” Audie chuckles, throwing an arm over my shoulders. “So what’s your plan for the day, Candyman?” she asks. “Let me guess. You’ve got some charts to look over because you’re on a quest for the fabled Fountain of Trout?” Well, it’s obvious _she’s_ had plenty to drink.

Harry waddles behind us as I begin to walk, leading Audie along with my paws in my pockets. I'm content not to answer her, but Harry evidently won't accept that. “Nah, Reese says he’s gotta sleep today. Something about bein’ busy,” he explains as he pulls some nip and a couple papers out of his pocket.

“You? Busy?” Audie asks, pulling my hat from my head and setting it on her own. “With what? Anything good?”

“When is it _ever_ anything good?” I sigh, reaching up to take back my hat. “Damn school needs me to cover for someone again. For a fucking _math_ class. I SUCK at math.”

“Damn. You shoulda drunk more,” Audie laughs. “Who cares if you come in hung over, just show a video or something,” she snorts, finding endless joy in her own joke.

“I plan to. But I’d rather not be hung over, you know? I mean, if I already know it's gonna suck, why make it worse? Let’s just hit a store on the way to Harry’s place so I can get a pack of cigarettes.”

Audie sticks her tongue out. “Those things make you taste like ass, dude.”

“Right, like you would know?” I retort with a smirk, causing Harry to nearly choke on his joint.

“You’re fucking _gross_ ,” she groans.

“Yeah, and you’re just a prude. Hey Hairball, pass that shit up here,” I call back, reaching behind my back and accepting the joint. It's nice, sometimes, that the police don’t often patrol Pack Street and its surroundings when the sun is up. You can just stroll down the street with nip out in the open, though you may run across residents who disapprove. I hand it back to Harry against Audie’s protests, telling her, “What do you need it for? You’re _drunk_ , lady. Show some restraint.”

“Fuck that,” she huffs, snatching the jazz cigarette from our rotund comrade. She hands it back mere seconds later, coughing all over me. Super feminine.

“Goddamnit, cover your mouth or something, you... you tramp.”

“Tramp?! How _dare_ you. See if I touch you where the sun don’t shine, ya little red... menace.” Red menace... what? Wasn’t that communism?

“Ugh... come on, let’s just get to Harry’s and we’ll see who touches whom, all right?”

Harry coughs, wheezing at me, “Bro, you better not get down on Norm’s couch or nothin’. We don’t really have a lot of rules, but the main one is no freaky shit on public surfaces.”

 

I rub my aching brow, exhaling a cloud of smoke in my hiding place behind the dumpsters. From the mass of cigarette butts at my feet I’m guessing this is a pretty popular spot to sneak a smoke. Whether it’s more popular among the students or the faculty, I can’t say. But if I had to deal with these goddamn kids every day I’d be back here smoking half a pack between every fucking class period. Some jovial chatter catches my ear, growing steadily in volume. _Shit_. I don’t need anyone to find me here. I consider discarding my cigarette, deciding instead to leave it lit as I slither under one of the dumpsters. Well... it’s cleaner under here than I’d expected, but that’s not saying much.

I see a variety of feet file in behind the dumpsters, paying little attention to the conversation. These are definitely students, though; no teacher, not even a fake one like me, would come to work with frayed cuffs. I take a soothing drag off my own cigarette as they light up.

“Hey... you guys smell that?”

“Smell what, your rank ass?”

“Fuck off, something smells funny. There’s someone else here.”

“You’re full of shit. Did you pack nip in your fucking cig again, you paranoid dick?”

“I’m not even smoking yet, bitch! Shit... look down.”

Wait. What? I barely have time to notice my secondhand smoke rising out from under the dumpster before a large paw drags me, screeching, from my hiding place.

“OH FUCK, IT’S A TEACHER,” the wolf cries, stomping out his cigarette. The bobcat who has me in her grasp holds me at arm’s length as I quit flailing and look to my paw, discovering that I fortunately haven’t dropped my own smoke.

I take a disgruntled puff, twisting my head around to look at my captor. “Mind putting me down?”

“Oh, uh, okay,” she stammers, setting me on my feet.

I brush the dirt from my clothes and pretend to ignore the silent, stalk-still students around me, but eventually feel the need to speak. “You didn’t come back here for the scenery, I assume. Since you haven’t scurried off you’re either waiting for me to write you up or you’re waiting for me to leave so you can smoke,” I sigh, snuffing my butt and pulling another from my pocket.

They stand and stare uneasily as I light up. Their blank, nervous expressions are actually pretty goddamn funny to me right now. I take the first drag off my second cigarette and exhale a cloud of soothing, life-shortening smoke. These things will kill me someday if I don’t quit. “Well, what are you waiting for? They never told me how to write anyone up, and your window to do what you came here for is closing quickly.” I almost laugh as they start fumbling for their lighters. Goddamn amateurs.

“Wow. You’re pretty cool,” one of them - a badger or something - remarks.

“Not really. Only reason I’m not chasing you out of here is sympathy,” I grunt. “None of you goddamn kids should be smoking. I have goddamn reasons to smoke, for starters I have to deal with _you_ all day. Sure, you all have to deal with each other, but it’s not the same. What else have you got? Rent? Insurance premiums? Do any of you have to worry about bills?” I scoff, taking another puff.

The bobcat rests a paw on her hip. “Uh, college applications? Do you know how much of a bitch those are when your piece of shit parents won’t help?”

College applications? Must be seniors. Explains why I don’t recognize a goddamn one of them, though I have so many faces pass in front of me I’d be surprised if I could recall any of them. “Hm... no, I don’t know what that’s like, but I understand parental hatred. My point is that you shouldn’t be smoking because it’s terrible for you.”

She lashes me again with her whip of sass. “Yeah, and stress _isn’t?_ Jake’s been basically raising his kid sisters for seven years since his mom ran off and his dad became a drunk,” she snips, pointing with her cigarette towards the badger or whatever. “You think _he_ has a reason to smoke?”

“SHUT UP,” I snap. “ What the fuck is this, did I stumble into some trite, young-adult novel about a bunch of kids just trying to make their way?!... Ah shit, I said fu- godda- ugh. Well if you think I’m the cool teacher who’s supposed to give you meaningful advice to better your lives, you’d better keep looking because all I’ve got is ‘quit smoking while you still have lungs’ and ‘never put yourself on the internet.’”

The wolf laughs. “The internet, that's pretty f- OH SHIT! I KNEW you looked familiar!” he howls, laughing and nudging the cat. “He’s the don’t be a beast guy!”

Well, time to go. I throw my half-done cigarette on the ground and step on it as I turn. “All right, quit smoking, kids. Good luck and have fun with your li-“

A large paw lands on my shoulder, spinning me around. Before I bite it, however, the wolf to whom it belongs starts yammering. “Oh man, I can’t tell you how much that shit makes me laugh! Don’t you think it's important that folks can get together and just laugh at things sometimes? Especially real heavy shit, you know, like going savage and stuff. I think it’s real important for healing, know what I mean?”

Most of that sailed right over my head, to be honest. With as much as I hate Don’t Be A Beast, as soon as it was mentioned my ears shut off and I retreated into a tiny echo chamber in my mind filled with vitriol and rage. “That’s great. Why don’t I go before this gets any more uncomfortable for both of us?”

“Uncomfortable?” he asks, laughing. “Man, I’m saying you’re great, how’s that uncomfortable?”

“Hang on. You _like_ that shit?” I ask. “Cheese and rice, kid, I don’t mean to sound rude, but what the hell is _wrong_ with you?”

They laugh. All three of them. _Laugh_. “Man, you’re fuckin’ weird,” chortles the cat. “It ain’t, like, Oscar-level shit, but it’s still _funny_.”

“You three actually think that’s funny?” I puzzle, genuinely curious. “Because I just think it’s specist. What, is that why you’re the only ones smoking here, because everyone else shunned you for it?”

They glance between each other, each of them wearing that perplexed look I’ve seen on many students’ faces. The badger-whatever looks to me once again. “Wait. If you don’t like ‘em, why do you do ‘em?” A very reasonable quandary. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t ask myself that same question several times a day.

“I don’t... shit, I don’t know, kid," I sigh. "I have persuasive friends and I hate myself, maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.” The bell rings, saving me from further torment. “All right. I may not be a real teacher but that doesn’t mean I won’t chase all your asses to the office if you don’t get inside now.”

 

I sit atop the desk - because this school obviously has no money for additional size-appropriate desks - and try to keep my eyes open. I’ve listened to this video so many times tonight that it’s nothing but white noise to me now, and with the lights off I’m really struggling to stay awake. Every so often I have to give someone a pointed look, how can I let myself fall asleep with such responsibility on my shoulders? Holy FUCK is this video boring. And worthless, too! I’ve watched it, I’ve listened to it repeatedly, and I _still_ don’t understand it, so how can these kids get anything from it?

My attention is drawn to a back corner of the room. “Be quiet back there,” I groan, reluctant to actually exercise any of the meager authority with which I’ve been vested. And though I’m listening now, I cannot understand their muttered reply. I can  _definitely_ pick up on their tone, though. “I’m sorry, what was that? Im not fluent in cowardly mutterings, so if you want to say something, speak from your diaphragm and let us hear you.”

I’m greeted with a silence so deep that you’d think I’d just pulled my dick out in class. As a few labored seconds pass I hear a few snickers throughout the class, but something... something just feels off. I feel my hackles rise just before I hear the angry shoving of a desk and a loud “FUCK you!”

Someone turns the lights on. Every head in the room is pointed at a tall, adolescent lion whose mane has barely started to grow. I rise to my feet and stare back across the room. “Sit back down,” I sigh, thoroughly uninterested in whatever conflict this monstrous child has burning behind his eyes. For all I know, this is what teen hormones do to lions and to be honest I don’t care. I just want to get through this night and collect my goddamn check.

“No! FUCK you!” Wow. I bet this kid aces every vocabulary quiz. “I don’t have to listen to you!”

I lift my glasses from my snout and rub the bridge of my nose. “Unfortunately you do, as much as that may confuse both of us. Look, just sit back down and... hell, take a nap or something. I don’t care if you watch the video or-“ I freeze as I put my glasses back on and open my eyes, realizing that this giant toddler not only hasn’t sat back down, but also hasn’t remained at his desk. Oh, hello, fight-or-flight response! How long has it been? Read any good books lately?

The enormous cat towering over me goes into some angry, teen angst-laden rant, but my ears don’t seem to be working. All I hear is a strange ringing noise. It’s just as well that I can’t hear him; I’m positive he hasn’t rehearsed much less spent time writing this speech, so I don’t think I’m missing anything particularly poignant. He bends down, extending a paw towards me with his claws out, and time slows to a crawl. Holy shit. Holy _shit_. Does this little fucker know what he’s doing?

Just as I feel the deep-seated anger within me snapping the chains that keep it restrained, something intervenes. Nature, the universe, fucking _Odin_ , who knows and who cares? The fact of the matter is that a fat fucking pigeon falls through a ceiling tile and starts flipping out on the floor right next to my desk, causing every pupil in the room to freak the fuck out.

In the midst of this chaotic chorus of screams, tears, and laughter, I settle on a sensible course of action. Whether I like it or not, I am the teacher in this room, and these are my unfortunate students. Their attention has been diverted from its rightful target by an errant avian pest, whose crazed flapping has disturbed their city-dwelling, wildlife-fearing nerves.

I drop down from the teacher’s desk, leap onto the pestilential pigeon as it tries to take flight, and dispatch it with swift efficiency, turning my attention back to the impudent lion at the front of the room. “GET BACK TO YOUR GODDAMN DESK AND SIT DOWN,” I snarl, suddenly realizing that I’m pointing at him with the limply-flopping head of a dead fucking pigeon. I clear my throat, adding, “...if you please.”

 

I’ve never sat in a principal’s office; not as a student, not as a parent, and not as anything else until now. I’ve seen it happen in movies and tv shows, but the fuming civet standing across the desk from me is hardly putting on an act. If she were, though, she'd deserve a standing fucking ovation for the terror she must induce in the kids.

“Just what the HELL was going through your mind, Reese?! First we get rumors that you’re not only smoking on school grounds - which is _illegal_ , by the way - but you encountered students doing the same and did NOTHING?!”

I raise a finger and speak in my defense. “Okay, I didn't actually know that was a crime, so thanks for letting me know that little piece of info, but I didn't do nothing. I told those kids in very clear terms that they should not be smoking.”

“Oh, really!” she smiles, resting her paws on her hips. “Then what? Did you confiscate their cigarettes and lighters? Did you take down their names, lead them to the building... march them into the main office?”

I swallow nervously. Damn, she's good at this. But that wasn’t anything they prepared me for when they tricked me into taking this as a side-job. “I'm, uh, unfamiliar with procedure in such situations,” I admit, which is technically the truth. I know full well I could and should have actually done something, but I’m sure if I’d fucked that up she’d be screaming at me right now about the impending lawsuit. This is probably the less-damaging outcome.

She sets her paws on her desktop and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath before re-initiating uncomfortable eye contact. “Don’t you think it would have been more appropriate to at least... I don’t know, _not_ let them smoke?” she wonders, quite reasonably.

“Well... that would make sense, yeah, but I kind have to ask, how much have you heard? Because you seem to have taken all of it as truth, and you know how gossip works.”

“You also haven’t really _denied_ any of it,” she replies, shutting me right the fuck up.

“Ah... I mean, I denied _some_ of what you said, it’s not like-"

“Shut up.” She drops into her chair, rubbing her forehead. I’m familiar with that, to be sure. “Like I was saying... first I hear about that, thanks to kids having no control of their mouths, but now we have an entire school talking about the sub who rips birds’ heads off?”

Now I stand up, unwilling to sit through such falsehoods. “Hey, I didn’t rip _anything’s_ head off, I-”

“Sit down. Now.” Goddamnit. I sit down almost meekly as she continues. “I want to hear _exactly_ what you were thinking when you pulled that shit,” she growls, staring daggers at me. “Talk.”

I take a slow breath as I think back mere minutes to the... event. “Well... uh, there was this pigeon. It fell through the ceiling, the class started freaking out, so I... removed the distraction.” I look back to her and shrug, unable to put that any other way.

“...By doing what?” she asks, attempting to lead me into admitting something incriminating, probably. Not going to work.

“Okay, look, I know I probably don’t deal with birds the way you’d prefer, and that’s just in general. I don’t call 911 or city bird control or whatever the hell anyone else here would do. It’s a goddamn _pigeon_ , Sheila! It’s a cockroach with feathers. There was other shit going on in that room, tensions were high, and I dealt with the problem in the only way I knew how."

“You could have _traumatized_ that entire class! Some of these students have it rough enough at home, did you even think of that?”

“I know some of these students have it rough at home, that’s why a lot of them fucking _smoke!_ ” I laugh sarcastically, throwing my paws up in a shrug.

She points a clawed finger at me, menacingly. “That’s not my point.”

“All right!" I snark, losing what little patience I still have. "Let’s get _your_ opinion. Put yourself in my position: you’re a sad fuck with no more dreams left alive, you’ve been tricked into working as a substitute teacher, a job you're woefully unqualified for, and now some testosterone-addled child TWO THOUSAND TIMES your size stomps up to your desk and wants to _bite you in half_. With all that stress and adrenalin pumping through your veins, what would you do if a pigeon broke through your fucking ceiling?”

She closes her eyes, breathing slowly through her nose. She finally looks down and rummages through a drawer, scribbles something angrily, and throws a check at me. “Get out of my goddamn office.”

 

I lean back on the plastic bus stop bench, closing my eyes and hoping for... hell, an asteroid impact sounds nice. My nose twitches as it detects a presence approaching. Well, I heard someone or something coming for several seconds already, but now that I smell them I know exactly who it is. I open my eyes and lean forward, looking down from the bench to see Leonard staring up at me accompanied by a tiny cart loaded with papers that need to be graded.

“Well. I hear _you_ had an interesting night,” he remarks, leaning against his cart.

I shrug. “If you've got any theories for why this kind of shit seems to seek me out, I’m listening,” I sigh, leaning back to remove him from my field of view.

In a maneuver I realize I really would like to have seen, the tiny teacher scrabbles and climbs his way up onto the bench and sits at a respectful distance... but still close enough to force a conversation. “I hope you understand if I’m curious about some of the things I’ve heard.”

I growl softly. “I told them they shouldn't smoke. I wouldn’t wish the habit on them, they’re too young to throw their health away... fuck, _I_ don’t even like smoking! I hardly do it anymore unless I have to deal with these fucking kids, then I go through a pack before the night’s through!”

He nods, putting on his ‘understanding’ face. He’s not a good actor, I can see right through this shit. “But you _were_ smoking,” he replies, carefully keeping his tone neutral.

“Does Sheila have you wearing a wire or something? Or do you just talk like this normally, like you’re fishing for an admission of guilt?”

He holds his paws out innocently. “Hey. I just want to hear it from the source, you know? Especially since I stuck my neck out by getting you this damn job,” he adds, some of his anger actually seeping through.

The entirety of the night’s events - well, the few interesting bits interspersed among the crippling ennui - runs through my mind once again. As I try to consider it from his perspective I begin to laugh. It’s an unkind laugh. Sardonic, even, perhaps cruel, but it’s a genuine laugh, which kind of surprises me. “Well, yeah, I guess I can see why you’d want some fucking answers,” I chuckle, looking over at him as he strains to maintain his facade.

“I’m _so_ glad you understand.” The little fucker’s twitching like crazy. It’s impressive that someone so small can contain so much anger. Good thing he can, teachers really shouldn’t explode on their students.

I shrug. “If you want to know what really happened with the pigeon, though, you can probably just wait until you get home. I’m sure half the class has already put put video up on ZooTube, because every embarrassing fucking thing I do ends up there sooner or later.”

“Embarrassing?!” he snaps, gathering himself quickly. “Maybe not the word I’d have chosen,” he explains, clearing his throat.

I speak up before he gets a chance to continue. Not out of any wish to clear things up or anything, just because I don’t want to hear any more from him or anyone else. “Yeah. Embarrassing, for the most part, though some things I’ve done may also be called shameful, stupid, foolish, reckless...  _specist_ ,” I add, staring back at him as he looks away briefly to feign interest in the passing traffic. “I’ve told you before, yes, I _do_ read your emails, I just don’t reply because I have nothing to say. I also hear about the shit folks say on the CRAMP forums because I happen to be fucking one of your forum moderators! Kinda wonder if you have anything to say about a few of those posts, given your rule against ‘insulting or combative’ posts.”

He groans, rubbing his brow. “All right... look. I get it. You have this thing that you do for a living, and though I disagree with a lot of the content, I accept that everybody needs something. And you know what? Some of what you do is funny, even some of the things I disagree with. But smoking with your students and TEARING BIRDS APART IN CLASS are not a fucking part of that and I don’t think they should be excused!” he screams, his chest heaving as he tries to calm himself.

God DAMN. I’m not sure if I feel more upset that he dropped an f-bomb on me or proud of myself that I got him that fucking _angry_. “Well, Leonard, the school is free to never call me back. I’m not taking advantage of your needs try to get away with heinous shit, I mean, I don’t fucking _need_ this, and I certainly don’t enjoy it. Do you think I had fun getting caught smoking behind the dumpsters by students? Do you think I had fun when some overgrown kid with a puberty-mane and an overabundance of testosterone came within a hair’s breadth of ripping me in half in my own classroom?! I’m not a fucking teacher, Leonard! This was YOUR idea, and I only agreed to it because I was fucking BROKE. When I got here this evening I tried to justify it to myself as some kind of community service. Give back after all the ‘problematic’ shit, as you call it, that I’m unfortunate enough to star in. But right now, you know, I really don’t disagree with you. I’ve set a terrible example for my students and I don’t have any business setting foot inside a school, but I’m pretty sure I told you that when you fucking asked me to take this job.”

He covers his face with a paw and breathes a ragged sigh. “All right... you’re right, you did say that. I would have thought that you’d hold yourself to a higher standard under the circumstances, but it _was_ my idea.”

“I have been holding myself to a higher standard. The problem is that my higher standard applies to a fuckup of an amateur comedian and yours applies to a fucking teacher. I made a conscious decision to show up this evening sober, without a hangover, and with no nip in my system, _that's_ my high standard. Do you have any idea how many times I successfully caught myself before swearing in class tonight?”

“ALL RIGHT!” he snaps, clearly unimpressed with my gallant sacrifice, but perhaps finally understanding precisely what kind of menace he’s brought into his school. “Okay. I get it. We’re all uncomfortable with you being at the front of a classroom, maybe for different reasons, but unfortunately you’re all we’ve got. Does that sound fair?” he asks, looking back up to me, and releasing a sigh as I nod. “I don’t want to put you under that kind of pressure again given how... drastically unsuited you are to the task.”

“That’s pretty accurate,” I agree.

“Don’t think we ever stopped looking for an _actual_ sub. Best-case scenario, we figured you’d cover once or twice, and in a perfect world maybe go through some training to become a real sub. But _that_ ,” he laughs, “was never more than an optimistic joke, really.”

“Well... if you say so,” I groan, checking my phone and glancing up to the bus arrival timetable. Fuck. Of course it’s late. I guess I’ll waste some data and kill some time.

He speaks again, apparently not caring that I’m trying to shut the world out. “Honestly, I don’t know if Sheila’s even willing to call you back if we need you again. So if that sounds good to you, well, congratulations, I guess. But I really would like to know what actually happened in that classroom.”

I shut my eyes and groan, leaning towards him and holding my phone out for him to see. “Well... just like I thought they would, here’s fucking front-row footage.”


End file.
